The Prince's Tale
by Araceli L
Summary: A tale of the unlikely hero who comes in to save the day when it's the last thing anybody wants. Controlled by Mario, the Mansion functions as a unit, coming to life in horrible, mysterious, and ways even the master cannot control.
1. A Rebellious Royal

A/N: **This is going to be a tale about one of my favorite characters of Brawl. I think he's very mysterious and interesting, with a complicated past. I believe he has much potential for conflict and character development, so please tell me if I'm on the right track. I think I went a little crazy with my best friend Thesaurus today, so please provide feedback. **** As always, I can't thank you enough for reading. Enjoy!**

_**Chapter 1: A Rebellious Royal**_

The charming, suave, and regal prince smoothed his shiny, navy hair, tugged at his royal blue tunic, and shuffled around on his blue-booted feet. He grimaced as he glanced down at himself. Had his retainers really had to choose so much blue? Though few people knew it, the swordsman's favorite color was not blue, unlike the attire he was always required to present, but white, like the pure and innocent snow that drifted lazily yet gracefully to the despairing ground around him now, dusting it in a shimmering layer that was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

But then again, few people really knew him. He had never told anyone his favorite holiday, he'd never shared a secret (most were too deadly to think about, let alone share), and he'd never laughed with a true friend over a simple jest.

Instead, he sat straight-backed and stiff in his father's throne, nodding to some unknown person because he always had to avoid eye contact, pretending to know the answers to questions he was asked, acting like he knew what he was doing. He approved or rejected laws, told off peasants, and studied quietly in his brimming-over library.

He hated it, every single second. He loathed the way his advisers sneered at a humble villager, jeered at him when he left, or beat him senseless for a simple comment muttered on accident. The prince could do nothing of it, lest he lose the support of said advisors, who had ascended him to his position in the first place. And he could not lose his royalty because of his last, hesitant vow to his sister.

He glared whenever his teachers attempted to get him to study, and they usually backed off, and the ones that didn't were ignored. The prince wasn't cruel enough to fire them, especially when the kingdom was failing so swiftly. He blamed himself for this; the death of his only remaining family was indolently eating away at his heart, enjoying every cheated bite. Also, with the arrival of an invitation to a curious fighting tournament, the prince had been preoccupied with pondering for days.

Now, as he carefully stepped only on the stone path to preserve the source of his favorite time of the year, the experienced swordsman was endeavoring to slash down all of the worries knotting in his stomach. Rubbing his tummy for a second, he buried his head in his arms and tried to clear his mind.

_Everything will be fine. Everything will be alright. Everything is going to be okay._

He raised his pale, numbing head and gazed at the grayish-white sky. A fluffy snowflake brushed his face caressingly, and he grinned a rare, happy grin. As the piece of snow melted on the tip of his nose, he swallowed hard and walked up to the wide oak doors. They were magnificently carved and detailed, embossed with streams of gold. Though they were beautiful, they were nothing compared to the manor itself.

The blue-haired prince lifted his long-fingered and blanched hand to the door, making a fist in his navy gauntlet. However, he hesitated, and inhaled a sweet breath of frosty air, and exhaled it gently through his parted, colorless lips. With his sister in mind, he rapped his chilled and bare knuckles against the door.

There was muffled scrambling heard behind the doors, and the swordsman cocked his head curiously. He waited for a few more seconds, wondering if he should knock again, when the doors swung open with a rush of warm, sugary wind.

A curvy young woman with voluptuous bright yellow hair and giant, innocent cerulean eyes was standing there, observing him in the oncoming muted twilight. He was quite unsure what to say, but then recognition seemed to dawn on her girlish face as she batted her thick eyelashes at him playfully.

"Hello there," she welcomed, her voice more maternal than flirtatious, which relieved some tension in his stomach. "You must be the 'Challenger Approaching!'. Come inside, dear, it's freezing out there."

She ushered him in, and he thanked her graciously, but he was slightly confused as to her voice. It was high-pitched, juvenile-sounding, yet she acted as though she raised five children. She looked no older than he did, and he was sixteen.

Once she had him seated on the sofa, making quite sure he was comfortable, she said, "Let me get you some cookies."

Now just downright astounded (was he at the right address?) he could only sit there in bafflement as she waltzed back in with a tray of cookies and tea. She laid it on the glass table in front of him and grinned. "Try one!"

He took a timid bite, and, in discovering their delicious, mouth-watering qualities, grinned back at her. Then, before he could react, she raised her sweet voice in a shrill summon: "Mario!"

To say the prince's eyes widened was an understatement. He may lead a slightly seclusive life as the ruler of an independent kingdom, but even he had heard of Mario. He suspected there wasn't a person alive who hadn't heard of this man. He was famous around the world for all the dangers he had faced only to save the woman he loved.

The Prince of Altea looked around nervously, and then, eyes catching on the girl perched on the couch arm next to him, realized at once who it was.

Princess Peach smiled down at him. "What was your name, hun?"

"I—um, I'm Prince—"

"Whoa!" someone yelled, cutting him off. The prince craned his neck back to see behind him, and was humiliated to find about twelve people staring at him as though he were the end of the world. A young boy in a red cap with closely cropped black hair stood in front of the small crowd, his black eyes gleaming with thrill. He turned back to his audience and bellowed excitedly, "A CHALLENGER!"

Conversations exploded behind the prince, and amidst the yelling, he was able to pick up furious debates over something. The blue-haired young man stood up cautiously, not trusting his instincts. He was overwhelmed and perplexed here; this was the furthest thing from what he knew. Everyone had their eyes glued to him, but their gazes began wavering from him to someone else in the room. Their screams suddenly decreased to fervent mutterings, which warned the prince as he revolved slowly on his heel.

A lone figured stood in the threshold, silhouetted by a flickering fireplace in the adjoining room. As he walked into the light of the massive chandelier on top of them, the prince steeled his nerves impressively.

There, in front of him, stood the best fighter in the universe.

"Hello," the short man said colloquially, a wineglass sloshing about in his hand. The prince cocked a navy eyebrow contumaciously. For some reason – maybe the wine, maybe the fat man's cocky swagger – this man made him feel nettled, and his vexation increased when the big-nosed man began to glare at him, equally challenging. He swished the white wine around in its glass as he snobbishly examined it.

"We must duel, Challenger. It is the appropriate way to be accepted into this fine contest of power. Are you prepared?" His voice held subtle contempt, and the prince knew his first rule of Melee was learned: Mario is master.

The swordsman tightened his fingers on his legendary blade Falchion's grip. He nodded, attempting to keep the corners of his mouth from a mischievous grin. He had practically been born to break the rules.

The squat man in the overalls narrowed his untrustworthy blue eyes. "Good," he spat at the prince, but to the others fighters it was as friendly as could be. "Follow me. We must demand a melee at once." Without another glance, the mustached man walked out of the room, depositing his wine on a table. Holding his chin high, the prince did indeed follow, as did the other fighters, a few still daring to murmur speculatively.

They reached a plain white room, completely empty, save for a raised platform, which the challenger assumed to be their destination. He halted outside like the rest of the Smashers, but was then pushed inside by a few meek hands and a few rough ones. He stumbled inside, and just glimpsed Mario's smirk, but it disappeared instantly. The swordsman was bewildered, but, taking from the way he acted on the throne, pretended to be indifferent.

"Step into the glowing circle when it appears," the fighting king instructed calmly. Was the young, handsome royalty really the only one to hear his sneer? "We will be transported to a stage. The light may blind you for a moment. You will hear a countdown. At _go,_ we may fight. Anytime before that word and your foe will win by default. To win here, you must defeat your opponent. To do this, you must obtain a knockout. To achieve a knockout, you must blast your enemy out-of-boundaries. You will know when you do this because there will be a burst of a certain colored light, and then they will appear above the stage on a recovery platform. We measure damage by percentage. The higher a fighter's percentage, the better the chance for a knockout. When you are knocked out, the recovery platform picks you up and instantly your damage is zero. The match ends when the time limit is over. Whoever has the most knockouts is the winner. In our case, if I win, you must leave and return to wherever you came from. If you win—" here Mario paused from his steady explanation to snicker. "—you are allowed to stay and compete in this tournament."

After all of this, the blue-haired swordsman simply shook his head in the affirmative, trying to concentrate. Receiving an opprobrious glower in reply, the master pressed an unnoticeable button off to the side of the room.

Mario climbed onto the platform in the center of the room that was higher than the rest. It was simply a raised block, and on each side of the strip a fighter stood, the prince having followed his foe's example. Two glowing rings lit up in front of them.

The swordsman lifted his right foot to place it inside the circle, when the King spoke again.

"Oh, and Challenger," he called tauntingly, "don't hold back."

The prince's left boot came after his right. Now he looked up through is navy bangs and directly into Mario's eyes, and unleashed warning and irritation and confidence in his gaze, delighted to see the fat man becoming apprehensive.

Light was enveloping them, and he felt a fuzzy, tickling sensation, but there was a second before they disappeared entirely.

"I don't intend to," Marth Lowell promised.

A/N: **Hey guys, it's me again****. I want to thank you (4) reviewers sooo much for everything you said! Every time I read it or got a new one, I promise and lie to you not, I was jumping up and down and squealing with joy. And I'm going to address every (4) of you! Thank you MarvelMe, you REALLY made my day, because I love the story you have going on. Please update! Thank you sooo much Etiema! That one especially made me squeal. Gracias Anyone() who I thank for being my special 2****nd**** review, I encourage you to get an account. And thank you Guessworks, for being my 1****st**** review ever. Practically made my year. Also, thanks for adding me to favorite Authors, or Favorite Stories, or Author Alert. That makes me grin from ear to ear. Like the Grinch. I'm selfish and want more reviews. So please review, my freaky darlings! (No offense. It's a quote from "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen." Anyone? …okay…****) Thanks my lovelies!**

**P.s.: Maybe as you've realized, this is set in Melee. Should I add Brawl characters? Not sure yet. Also, if anyone was confused, they were all debating over who would get to fight him, but then big-bad Mario showed up. Oh, and please tell me if I'm boring you. That's my worst fear.**

**Quick Side Note: I kind of spontaneously decided to make this a few chapters, so I would be ecstatic to receive suggestions. Please try to stick with the theme of this fic. Please, no yaoi, no, uh, what's the word, lemon? (still getting used to terms.) None of that is supposed to be offensive, I'm just sticking with what I'm comfortable with. Also note that if you send an idea, I may mold it around a bit. I'm really more looking for inspiration than anything, but I do have a few ideas up my sleeve. **** I know I've said this about 99897697000 times, but THANK YOU! **

**ANOTHERQuickNote: sorry for being boring. And annoying. But who here loves footy pajamas?**


	2. The Debate of the 12

A/N:** Hey guys. Thank you so much for reviewing and/or adding this story to Story Alert and/or Favorite stories. It just makes my day, and I wake up every morning hoping for my phone to say 'email' and/or grab my phone out of my locker after school to hope it says 'new email!' it just makes me so happy. I don't even know if I can explain how good it feels. Thank you!**

**Please enjoy the latest installment of: A Prince's Tale. A story by ClumsyHeart17. :) **

**The Prince's Tale**

_**Chapter 2: The Debate of the 12**_

The red-shirted man leaped off the stage, seemingly into the ever-changing abyss below, but his feet touched the ground just as the room transformed into the white simulator room. The prince closed his mouth, and tried to breathe through his nose, wiping loads of sweat off his flushed face. He wasn't sure what to do as his opponent walked out of the room; were his footsteps a little heavy? Marth couldn't suppress a grin, but it vanished instantly as the short man shot him one last scowl. He exited the room, but before he disappeared entirely, the swordsman saw uneasiness and vacillation contorted his wide face.

The blue-haired prince stood there stupidly, uncertainly; was he supposed to follow? But he decided against it, and simply sat on the edge of the raised block, his feet dangling an inch off the ground.

Link saw the petulant look in Mario's eye as he glared at him; however, he knew he was also being summoned. With a jerk and a grunt, he informed the orange suit of armor next to him of their meeting. It nodded silently, then carried on his message.

Word travels on feet faster than Captain Falcon's, and in the next five minutes, the original 12 Smashers were assembled in the secret room. It was dark, musty, and mysterious; 12 seats were scattered around a glossy black table, lit only by a dim, single bulb.

Link, having always been out and about in the blazing Hyrule sun, found it uncomfortable and claustrophobic; he had to take long, steady breaths to assure himself the walls were not closing in on him. Samus wasn't pleased with it, but she was accustomed to it from being boxed in by her suit, and in truth she wasn't ever really pleased with anything. Captain Falcon was the same way; he was used to tight spaces and discomfort, from driving all of his cars. Yoshi, Jigglypuff, Kirby, and Ness were all content, pretending it was a top-secret spy hideout. Fox also felt quite relaxed; the dark space and silence and seriousness reminded him of his ships. DK was always at unease in this room, barely fitting all his burly bulk in his chair. Mario and Luigi actually enjoyed it; it was a little like all the underground tunnels they'd explored. Also, they liked the 'sense of drama, mystery, and suspense' the attic chamber aired. (The other 10 just thought they were cheap.)

Once they'd all settled themselves in their seats, (in ranking order) they all turned to Mario. He was at the top of the table, his face in his hands and his elbows pinned to the table. There was a silence, in which one thing all rose to the front of their minds. They contemplated this in the stillness, and the noiselessness began to swell. Ness was the first to speak.

"Mario," he said, his obsidian eyes reflecting the light bulb, "What are you going to do? Why are we here?" He asked this more for the benefit of everyone, to lay everything out clearly on the table so they could discuss their options.

For a child, Ness was rather intelligent and quick-witted. He always knew what was going on, he was a quick learner, and he could make decisions in a snap. He could be solemn and extremely helpful. But perhaps one of his most useful attributes was his innocence; adults tend to create bigger problems out of lesser things, and his young instincts brought them back to reality while suggesting a sensible solution. Yes, Ness was a very rare asset to the 12 Originals.

Mario sighed. Samus saw the baffled expression on Captain Falcon's mouth (his face wasn't visible under his helmet) and returned it with a vague shrug. Her opinion? Oh, no one cared about her opinion, especially when she had been the only (human) woman in the fighting tournament, not to mention 3rd seat. This outraged her; though she was growing to appreciate Link more and more, Samus was extremely prejudiced and proud. There was no way the Hylian swordsman was actually better than _her._

But in her opinion, they should keep Marth. Not only was he dizzyingly handsome (a surprising color warmed the bounty huntress's sharp features, which she quickly beat down) but he was an astounding swordsman. His swordplay bested anyone's she had ever seen (though admittedly, he still had Link to go up against) and the way he danced with the sword could have made her watch him forever. But besides all that, he also looked sturdy and capable; he didn't seem like one to crumble under pressure, which the tournament definitely offered in boatloads. His person appeared strong, and his will looked confident; but, Samus reasoned, she shouldn't get too ahead of herself, seeing as she had only seen him for five minutes. However, the galactic warrior trusted herself, and she felt this about him. She had a way of reading people, and the way he had sauntered, talked, and the defiance that was clear on his face had really shown her more about him than he realized. And she trusted the things she assumed about him. If there was one thing she'd learned as a bounty huntress, space warrior, and heroine, it was to _always_ trust your first instinct.

Mario groaned again; DK wished he'd shut up. It really wasn't _that _difficult of a decision, to keep the kid or not. A much harder choice was banana split or banana sundae.

Fox finally broke the reticent. "Mario, what's the problem?"

The number 1 seat raked his eyes over the lupine, but he wasn't intimidated. Mario always appeared to forget he was 4th seat. He also liked to remember himself as superior to all others. The mammal gnashed his sharp teeth under his closed lips. He, and all the other Originals, were too wussy to take any sort of stand against Mario, so he swallowed his retort and said, "Tell us."

Mario looked around the room dramatically, his eyes falling on the giggling Kirby and Jigglypuff with predominance. They hushed immediately, and instantaneously the mood got a whole lot graver.

"Well, children," he began, the way a schoolteacher would when subtly insinuating discipline to a student who had misbehaved, "we have an issue."

"Which is?" Pikachu squeaked with sarcasm. He was a small little guy, but he was filled to the cusp with indignation over the way he was treated by Mario.

Mario ignored him, 'for his own good.' "Should we invite this young man, _Prince _Marth Lowell of Altea, to join our Super Smash?" He laid a lot of stress upon 'prince,' drawing a frown from several Smashers, Link included.

"Mario, he beat you," Link felt inclined to point out, while Yoshi face-palmed. Link allowed himself a moment to glare at the emerald dinosaur, all the while being glowered at by Mario. But Link wasn't finished: "And as the rules state, challengers can only win or join the Smash Brothers by defeating a member. He _won._ Why are we here? Marth is legally, officially, technically a Smasher."

Samus chimed in, "I agree with the elf boy. The new kid should be allowed in. That's the way it's always been. It wouldn't be fair to defer him."

"It's just…" Mario's voice trailed off as he swung his head around at his brother, seeking support. He was showered in it.

"Mario is trying to make a decision that will benefit us all. He's only thinking of us, so don't you criticize him!"

Kirby rolled his eyes simultaneously with Pikachu, Jigglypuff, Yoshi, and Fox. The others would have joined in, but they were too near.

"Shut up, Luigi," Ness reprimanded dismissively, before saying, much louder, "I too agree with Samus and Link. What are your reasons against him, Mario?"

"He is supercilious, overly-confident, and brazen. I disapprove of his demeanor and cockiness. I will admit his sword fighting is up to standards—"

Link was grinning in disbelief now. "Mario, he kicked your fat plumber butt easily then mopped the floor with it. 'Up to standards,' honestly…you are unbelievable. Let the guy join; what's the worst that could happen?"

In all truth, the worst for Mario was exactly why the other Smashers endorsed him.

Jigglypuff let her startled gasp escape as these words rolled out of Link's mouth, but Link had no fear. He knew how to calm Mario down, and he also knew that he had somehow gained too much of Mario's twisted respect to be in any sort of danger.

Captain Falcon, who had been unusually quiet this whole session, suddenly spoke. "What's restraining you, Mario? What's the issue?"

Mario scratched his stubbly chin. "I confess, I am concerned he will do something drastic. I feel he will change the dynamic of this whole…setup."

"Setup?" Samus inquired, scrunching her sculpted, yellow eyebrows.

Gesturing to everyone in the room, Mario repeated, "Setup."

"There's no such setup. Everyone's reserved and grim and somber here. He seems…well, he seems interesting." Samus's reply shocked Mario, who seemed like the idea had never occurred to him. "I think he could lighten up this place," she added confidently, her voice growing in strength. There really wasn't much Samus said without power; her word was _nearly_ always right. But as she thought of all the positive ways Marth could improve the mansion, her voice built with vigor. She was so swept away in a fantasy of the unity that could finally make the Smashers see sense, logic, see the connections and resemblance they all had to each other; what could make them, well –she was embarrassed to admit it, but she really believed it –what could make them a family. "He seems intriguing and confident. I think he could do this place a world of good. We could all finally stand united instead of wary, proud instead of ashamed, _together _instead of spread apart—"

Samus's idealistic vision was shattered suddenly as she realized everyone's eyes were turned her way with raised, skeptical eyebrows. She swallowed hard, but when everyone didn't turn away, she coughed. "Uh, what about Marth? Are we allowing him to join us?"

Captain Falcon was staring at Samus in amazement. The wonder, the hope, and the romance she held in her abrupt vision was really inspiring. He had always thought of her as eternally irritated, displeased, and unsatisfied; he never imagined the femme fatale so dreamy and optimistic. It really shocked him, but also made him smile a little to himself. For some reason, that little happiness she had surprised him with seemed to fall to his heart, where it was kindled and glowing.

Samus glanced over and glimpsed him still looking at her intently, and she smiled an itsy embarrassed smile, but it was also something mutual. The glow in Captain Falcon's heart sparked as they shared that short, sweet little smile.

Mario's face remained stone cold as he stared down the table. "Fine," he growled. "Let's take a vote."

He bestowed them one last threatening glance, as Douglas Falcon tore his eyes away from Samus. Link looked bored, gazing at Mario obliviously; Fox had his head cocked, one finger playing with his gun; Luigi was staring at Mario with his mouth open, eyes glazed over in sick admiration; Ness was biting his lip, obviously immersed in thought; Kirby was rubbing his physically nonexistent belly with his stubby appendage, looking as bored as Link; Yoshi licked his muzzle, large eyes darting from this Smasher's face to the next; Pikachu was shooting electricity from the pouches in his cheeks to his paws and back again; DK was grumbling about food; Jigglypuff was softly humming to herself, her way of clearing things up in her mind, but making those nearest to her feel fuzzy; Captain Falcon was trying to clear his brain, and _finally _succeeded after a long while; Samus shrugged off the strange new feeling that now accompanied Falcon's presence and shook her head back and forth in her helmet.

As far as Ness was concerned, he knew the way this vote would go. He could sense the outcome, and let's say, it was unanimous.

"Raise your hand if you approve and support _Prince _Marth Lowell joining Super Smash Brothers." Once again, Mario laid the same stress on the word 'prince,' but Link wasn't sure what he was trying to get at.

Or should I say nearly unanimous. Luigi and Mario's hands were the only two white gloves missing in the (mostly) timid ascension of hands.

Mario shot them furious and horrified glances, but to Link, they looked bitter. The Hylian drew back a chuckle. Marth _had _beat Mario.

"Raise your hand if you disapprove of Marth Lowell of Altea competing in this Smash tournament."

The green-clad brother's hand shot into the air like a firework. Captain Falcon rolled his eyes, as did Jigglypuff and Ness. The others were grinning triumphantly.

_Prince _Marth Lowell of Altea, it seemed, was now indeed an official Smasher.

A/N: **This chapter was sooo fun to write, and I don't even know why. I really love it, and I can't explain it. Do you love it? Tell me! (Also, give me honest feedback. I'm terrified of boring you.) Thank you to Sweswe! She gave me fabulous, improving criticism. Also thanks to Anyone() whom I still wish had an account ;)! Because I need to reply to you! Thank you so much for your support and flattery. It makes me blush. Thanks to my new –slave- err, reviewer! Wolfsbane706. thanks for your comment, and I may just do that. To Mariko Midori, I totally agree. **

**Thank you lovelies, and remember to review for me:)**

**~ClumsyHeart17 **


	3. The Prince's New Palace

A/N:** Hola readers! Im very hapy with the reviews I got. Thank you to one and all! Please enjoy this chapter of The Prince's Tale.**

**The Prince's Tale**

_**Chapter 3: The Prince's New Palace**_

Marth wandered aimlessly around the Mansion, searching every crevice, peering around every nook. Prying his fingers off of another corner, he looked around, perplexed. Where..?

After being accepted to the Smash Mansion by a stony-faced Mario, a few cheers, and one or two half-hearted boos, Marth had been about to be shown to his rooms. He had planned to retire; the sun had had the same plan when he arrived, but the moment he was out of Mario's eyesight, a young child made her way to him.

"Excuse me."

Marth had glanced down in surprise, finding an adorable little girl in a suffocating rosy parka at his feet. She didn't appear shy as she tugged on his cape; but when he inquired quietly, "Yes?" her round face, framed innocently by a fluffy fur hood, had turned timid.

In a voice so soft he had to lean down to hear her, she whispered, "Can you help me find something?"

Marth had stopped the smile overtaking his face. "Of course," he replied, and watched in amazement as her little fingers grasped his cold hand. She pulled him behind her, gently but still as in control as a 3-foot little girl could be. After some long, twisting, and bleak hallways, they entered a vast sitting room, comfy and cozy, and the search began.

Now Marth sighed, and stepped over to the sofa and investigated behind it again, but his search was in vain, as it had been the last three times he checked. Nothing was there save for a few pieces of lint, a ripped red pamphlet, and a giant pink marshmallow…

"HI!" it screamed at him, and the prince was quite taken aback. Had it been there before?

"Hello…?" he said in confusion.

"HI!" it yelled back. Marth shook his head, trying to make sense of this…thing. With the curiously plain black eyes and stubby arms, and terrifyingly large mouth.

"Okay…I'll see you later…" he said, backing away. The puffball made no objection.

"Are you sure you left it in here?" Marth called to the little girl across the room, who had her head under a recliner. She crawled out from under it and stood on her short little legs.

The swordsman was still baffled as to why such a young child was competing in such a tournament. Was that really just? She must be quite easy to defeat, he figured: she was short, inexperienced, scrawny, and overall very young; though admittedly she was far from meek, and extremely determined.

Blowing her loose chocolate bangs from her face, she cried, "I'm positive! It has to be around here…" She threw open a closet door, then ducked down to stuff her face inside it.

Marth shook his head again in disbelief, partly from her endearing actions and partly from the confusion as to why she was looking for a hammer anyway. Obviously it must be her weapon, but why? How? Could she even lift a hammer?

The prince glanced around the room skeptically. "But are you sure it was _this _room? Perhaps it was the front room…"

She popped up suddenly from the floor, an expression of angry dawning on her face. "Popo…" she muttered, and her once inculpable face changed to one shockingly devious. "I'll get him back for this…thank you! Er—"

"Marth," the prince told her, barely before she flashed him a sweet smile and bolted out of the room. An enraged yell broke from the room she ran into, followed by some bellowing, and then a strangled cry. Deciding it was best to let kids be kids, Marth looked around him.

Now wondering what to do, his body instantly begged for his nice new bed, but his mind protested a little exploration was in order. He shrugged his finely robed shoulders, and was off through the other threshold.

He was in a bigger room than the sitting room previously; this one was bright yellow and clean. Pots hung from the ceiling; a marble counter ran along the edge of the north and south wall. Sleek, wooden cabinets lined the other walls, their glossy surfaces each inscribed with a different label. Whoever took care of this kitchen was neat and tidy: everything appeared organized.

An especially odd contraption was standing next to another door: it was like a cabinet, but it was much wider and white and bumpy. It almost felt like metal. It was split in two, with a smaller door on top and a larger one on bottom. A sticky handle was attached to the bigger one, and he grasped it, and then yanked it open. The door swung open with a slight swishing sound, followed by a bewildering rush of cool air. Mystified (and becoming chilled) Marth poked around inside of it, discovering the entire inside was cold. A freezing cabinet? What was this invention that kept foods cold? How did it continue to produce cold air? Marth was astonished and impressed. What an ingenious idea!

He surveyed the rest of the room; the only other objects of interest were some highly advanced and technological ovens. He exited the room through the door, which swung on oiled hinges to admit him. His brain was still stumped by the freezing cabinet as he went into the next chamber.

This room was also spacey, with many tables dotting the dark-tiled floor. They were fancy and set up beautifully: long, maroon tablecloths gave the circular tables silken sophistication; silverware of the finest kind (and he would know) was set precisely next to gleaming china plates and decorated bowls; lovely red geraniums bloomed serenely in a sparkling crystal vase in the center of the table.

Marth swept his critical gaze over the dining hall. A glittering chandelier hung above it, expensive and gorgeous. Its dimming candles speckled the place in romantic light, flecks of it spotting the prince as he observed it in indifference.

It was just like home.

Without appreciation for such an elegant room, he quitted it with a cold shoulder.

He followed a short hallway, where other open doors beckoned to him teasingly, but he ignored them. Swallowing the shameful lump in his throat, he continued onward to the end of the hallway. Two grand doors blocked his way; they reminded him of the two doors guarding the Mansion. These were far less majestic, but they were much more intriguing: pictures, seemingly ancient, flowed around the dark wood. As he embraced them, he realized it was a story. The different scenes chased each other around the door, but the carvings themselves left him so captivated he couldn't follow the plot. They were incredibly life-like and fantastic, with creatures only fantasy and fairytales could have summed up.

After a while, he gave up trying to decipher the meaning and settled his hand on the gold handle, and then easily pulled the right door open.

He stepped inside, and caught his breath: it was a library. But if he had once thought his own library back at home was extensive, he was sadly mistaken.

Books upon books upon books greeted him, astonished him, lining the shelves and even balconies. Up and down they ran, up and down the walls, from floor to ceiling. Marth hadn't believed, until this moment, that there could be that many stories in the world. Yet there they were, surrounding this titanic room, along with free standing bookshelves also overflowing with tales. Rows of these bookshelves continued down the room, but where Marth had entered was a small sitting area, with luscious seats, plush rugs, and small reading lamps on delicate end tables. These small areas appeared on either ends of the room, where the bookshelves finally ended. To his right was a small refreshment room; it had windows that were tinted, a confusing choice in his opinion, but the idea was delightful nonetheless.

He wanted to open his arms and embrace the room; it was glorious. He could have resided in there, lived his whole of the Smash Mansion days in that gargantuan chamber. But for the time being, he consented himself by striding about the room in eagerness. It reminded him, (maybe a little too forcibly) of his palace in Altea; but back there, his books had been his one comfort. Selecting a leather-backed tome off a shelf, he collapsed into an overstuffed plum armchair.

Marth easily lost himself into the random book; such was his concentration that the slightest sound actually snapped him out of it. (It was a ghost story, and Marth had always been fascinated by the paranormal. Though he claimed he didn't believe in it, any sound convinced him otherwise.)

He jerked his head up at the sound of rustling; his nervous gaze met the cerulean one of a young maiden. He stared at her before realizing what he was doing. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen; her face, artistically angled, looked startled but friendly. His eyes started to wonder – and he caught them before they could violate further than her collarbone, which was barely showing. Blushing furiously at his feeble-minded mistake, he instantly took his gaze off of her to prevent it from happening again.

"Hello," she welcomed, her voice surprised, but it was a beautiful sound, melodious and gentle. She strolled over to him a little bashfully, as he stood up politely. Once they were close enough, she smiled in slight embarrassment. "Thought I had the library to myself. No one really comes here anymore."

He glanced at her to see what she meant – and realized, with more color to his cheeks, that she was in a nightgown and dressing robe. Her pale, little feet were bare, and in her exquisite hands she cradled a coffee mug. Unsure how to reply, he merely nodded stupidly. Her angelic face displayed no sign of awkwardness, and her auburn tresses spilled over her shoulder as she looked down.

"It's nice to see someone else actually interested in books these days. Are you the Challenger I heard about?"

Marth nodded.

A little bemused by his speechlessness, Zelda nodded back. "Ah," she said awkwardly. "I am Princess Zelda of Hyrule. Nice to meet you."

Marth's jaw slackened, and he reeled it in instantly as he knelt at her feet, bowing his head. He had assumed no royalty except him and Princess Peach would be admitted to this tournament. He was appalled at the amount of nobility here. Most royals wouldn't have left their kingdom without some great motivation and trust in those behind.

"You may rise," Zelda said quietly, as if she didn't like commanding it, yet she had many times before. She smiled apologetically at him. It was enchanting, and Marth suddenly saw how weary she was of royalty. He knew exactly what she felt, and, eager to share this with her, introduced himself.

"I am Prince Marth Lowell of Altea."

Zelda gasped, her surprise evident. "Forgive me – sir, of my impudence – Prince, I mean, King Lowell—"

Marth, who had been modestly excusing her, clammed up at these words. _King _Lowell. It was not a title he enjoyed. _He _was _Prince,_ not a king; his _father _was king. His…Marth, you stupid boy. Your father is gone. You are king now. Embrace it! No…I will not. I am not king. My father is the king!

Frozen, he tried to clear his mind's debate, and frostily answered Princess Zelda's mutters. "No, it's quite alright," said he, biting his lip, looking far away, "No apologies are due. I am Prince Marth, though simply Marth, if you please, my lady."

Princess Zelda rose from her hasty curtsy and smiled at Prince Marth, who endeavored painfully to smile back; it looked like a grimace. Unable to contain herself, plainly because she might understand him better than her mind warned her, she said, "Marth? What's wrong?"

He glimpsed her curious countenance and rubbed his forehead in frustration, then tried to make it casual by flicking back his blue bangs. "No, it's nothing."

"Well, then, it is something. Come, tell me."

One look at her earnest face almost broke him, but he took from everything he'd learned on his throne, of remaining indifferent and impatient, and didn't fall.

"No."

His tone was much more forceful and deliberate; Princess Zelda stepped back. "I—" she began, but then an alarm burst over their heads, proclaiming:

"Challenger approaching! Challenger approaching! Challenger approaching!"

**A/N: ooohhhh suspense! Not. **

**Anyway, please review;) To be honest, I'm not terribly fond of this chapter, but I was attempting to set the stage. Hopefully everything will turn out better than this. Who's this challenger? Figure it out. :)**

**As always, thank you sooooo much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and until next time, my pretties.**

**~ClumsyHeart17**


	4. Sword vs Sword

A/N: **I want to thank all my lovely reviewers who reviewed **_**Back To December, If Only You Knew, **_**and **_**Vanilla Twilight, **_**oh and the reuploaded _If We Were._ (I'm sorry I had to delete your reviews, the grammar was just bothering me soooo much.)**** Thank you so much to you all! I would send you PMs, but some of you don't have an account…get one! Please? It's totally worth it. **

**Well, enjoy (hopefully) this chapter of **_**The Prince's Tale.**_

_**The Prince's Tale**_

_**Chapter 4: Sword vs. Sword**_

"Oh not again," Zelda murmured under her breath, even as she cast an anxious glance at Marth. She set her mug on the small end table beside them, a few specks of brown liquid peppering the glass. Gathering her dressing robe in her hands, she began to hurry out of the room. But as the prince made to follow her, she shook her head in the negative.

"No," she said, answering his questioning look.

He moved forward, but was blocked by her upturned palms. He glanced down at her in confusion. "What is it? Come on, let's go."

"No," she repeated, more firmly. Marth began to grow irritated.

"Princess Zelda, why do you not want me to find out who it is? What's wrong?"

"No, Marth, please don't. You can't go. I'll go. Nothing's wrong – just stay here, okay?" The beautiful maiden's tone was pleading, as he grew increasingly perplexed.

"Why not?"

"Just stay here, will you? Oh please, for me."

Even the look in her alluring blue eyes couldn't overwhelm his curiosity. He started forward again, only to collide with her hands. Now she pressed them to his chest, attempting to force him back. He drew his eyebrows together in bemusement, and slight amusement, as he remained motionless; she had thin, delicate arms. He waited for her to stop trying, when suddenly a person rushed through the door.

Princess Zelda instantly blushed furiously pink, yanking her hands away from Marth as though he had stung her. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, swallowed nervously, shuffling awkwardly.

Marth looked at the threshold. There stood a young man in a green tunic, a long sword strapped to his back. Attempting desperately to direct his eyes anywhere but the princess, his whole face was cherry red, to the tips of his lengthy, odd pointed ears.

"Uh, P-Princess Zelda, I was just, um, I was wondering where you were, because of the Challenger – I wasn't sure if, you—" he stuttered. Marth recognized him faintly from the crowd of people that had first seen him.

"Yes, Link, I'm coming," Zelda said, crossing her arms over her chest in embarrassment. Though she hadn't when she first saw Marth…

Throughout this humiliating few seconds, Prince Marth had just stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do – if he was to intervene or just kind of _be _there. But now the boy seemed to notice him, and smiled weakly.

"Hey there," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "Way to go on making it in. Your fighting's really impressive. I'm sure you'll do great in this competition."

His words were mumbled, more spoken just to have something to say, but they seemed sincere; Marth received them graciously. "Thank you," he replied, with a slight incantation of his head – a sign of respect.

Link nodded. "Well, I suppose we should head up there before we can't see the Challenger. You comin—"

"No! No, Link, let's go," Zelda said pointedly, her eyes obviously conveying something to Link. Immediately he appeared to understand, for he looked around quickly and replied,

"C'mon then, Princess." He turned to leave the room, his head still cocked towards her. She started after him – and Marth caught up to her side.

"Yes, let's, before they start the match."

Zelda shot him an irritated glare, and Marth grinned smugly back: it looked like their relationship was off to a good start.

And no one was about to tell Marth Lowell what to do.

* * *

The small area around the white room where Marth had fought about forty minutes ago was once again packed with Smashers. The smaller ones – a yellow mouse with a lightning bolt tail, that spooky pink marshmallow with the ominous eyes, and the two twins whom he had helped earlier, the boy looking a little bruised – were up in the window sill, their noses pressed to the glass. Another little boy in a red cap (Marth recognized him as the boy who had so excitedly announced his presence to the rest of the group in the front room) was trying to hop up with the rest of the youngsters, but to no avail. As he frowned dejectedly at the ground, Zelda placed her hands underneath his arms and lifted him onto the sill; he beamed.

The elf-man, the princess, and the prince wove their way through the crowd, attempting to reach the other window. However, it was completely crowded by curious contestants, and Link turned to the small group.

"I'll be right back," he told them vaguely, then disappeared, his green hat trailing behind him. Zelda watched him go, an indescribable look on her face. Marth tried to pinpoint it, but it was completely contradicting: she looked relieved, yet sad, also curious, but indifferent.

As close to the window as he could get, Link emerged from the crowd. He leaned down to whisper something in an alien-like creature's ear. Well, what Marth assumed to be his ear. The white being nodded, then led Link forward. The remaining royals waited, and then the elf was back in sight.

"I saw him," he said. "Big bloke, at least six and half feet tall. He's got massive shoulders on him, weird blue hair—"

He broke off as his eyes raked over Marth's hair. "Sorry, I mean, it's spiky, with a headband."

Now he saw the tiara Marth wore. His mortified stutters only made the prince feel more self-conscious than ever.

"Sorry!" he cried, and Marth could only nod in acceptance. He was humiliated.

Link looked horrified at his mistake, but finished his description as they tried to ignore the awkwardness rising between them like a wall. "Well, he carries a huge sword. Fantastically large, didn't even put it in a sheath; just lugged it around as if it were a stick. It was broadsword, gold, heavy, and had a good two-handed grip on it. And he swung it around with only one."

Link sounded incredulous, and Marth was intrigued. Being the tallest of them, he tried to peer over the collected Smashers, but there were many taller than he was. He gave up, just as another fighter approached them.

It was a bulky suit of orange armor, stiff in its movements. Marth was utterly bemused, but then a voice floated out of the green visor on what, Marth realized, was a helmet.

"Link," it said brazenly. Upon further observation, Marth saw – with some astonishment – that a beautiful woman's face was behind it. It was dangerously gorgeous – like Princess Zelda's, yet in a very different way. Nevertheless, between the both of them, women no longer had any hope of being truly beautiful.

No woman…none, except for one…

Marth swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat, ashamed. Now was not the time to remember her sparkling laugh—NO! No, no, no…

"You guys can't see back here. Come up to the front, with the rest of us," the mysterious woman in the futuristic suit was saying. Her voice was apologetic as she added, "Oh, and you too Zelda, Prince Marth."

Marth started at the sound of his name. "Oh – I – thank you."

He and Zelda followed the others as they made their way through the tight crowd, the two of them falling behind some. In the excited jittering of the pack, Marth was pushed near her, and his face grew uncomfortably warm. That, along with the depressing memories that had suddenly ambushed his mind, left him feeling unsettled and awkward. Zelda must have picked up on it too, for she jumped as soon as he brushed her. In an attempt to change the atmosphere, Marth murmured, "I wonder who he will be fighting." She shrugged, an unusual sight for a noble, but then suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Marth, stay here. Don't go on. Please," she beseeched him, desperately. He gazed down at her, mystified.

"Please tell me why, Princess Zelda. I'm just as curious as everyone else."

"Because I fear Mario will attempt to – Marth! Please…"

He was slowly taking steps forward, and her hand was tightening urgently. The fretful look on her face worried him; he focused on comforting her. "Everything's okay, Princess Zelda. Come along. Nothing's wrong."

Her grip on his arm instantaneously slackened, and her hand slid down his arm as she unwillingly followed him. Her fingers bumped his as they resumed after their companions.

Finally, they were at the other window, where six Smashers seemed to be a bit separated from the others. They were an assortment: a hulking, brown ape, a bright green mini dinosaur, and a heavily muscled, helmet-wearing man. _Another_ pink puffball, though rosy-pastel with more humanly eyes, levitated gracefully onto Zelda's shoulder, who welcomed her warmly.

As the two nobles neared the group, Marth felt all eyes turning to him. He didn't relish in it, but it was something he was accustomed to, and thus, had learned to ignore. Princess Zelda, it seemed, was the one friend (he flattered himself into assuming, anyway) he had made in this manor, so he stood by her as they waited for the match to begin. He did not deign to glare back at the short man in the overalls, instead applying one of the most useful rules of his princely knowledge.

When in doubt, start a conversation.

"Is it common to have a Challenger so closely following another?" He asked this to the group at large, and it was a fox that answered – leaving Marth shocked. A talking animal? But he politely hid his surprise as the lupine spoke.

"Oh no, nothing like this has happened before. But not that that means too much. Where are you from, Prince Marth?"

"Altea."

"This man claims he's from Crimea. Is that nearby?"

"Yes," Marth mused, unconsciously rubbing his chin. "I've heard of Crimea. Some travelers that roam by ask for directions to it." And subjects that couldn't stand living in poverty any longer. "It mustn't be too far from Altea, but I've never visited it myself."

"Then we most likely sent the invitations at the same time – and you both made your decision to depart from your respective countries around the same time. Merely a coincidence. Though it is interesting—"

A blue bird joined the fox, also walking upright, and about the same size as him. By now, the Altean was nearly immune to shock, so he nodded civilly at him.

"I'm sorry, but we haven't properly been introduced. I am Prince Marth Lowell of Altea," he said, his lips weary of saying that same old formal greeting over and over…. Why was his title so tedious to his tongue?

The bird sized up the prince. "The name's Falco," he said, a slight clip to his voice. Then he turned to the fox, without any sort of recognition to Marth's stature.

"I'm Fox McCloud." The lupine extended a paw, which Marth shook. Then the pair strolled a little ways away, conversing in low voices.

Marth wasn't sure what to do – Zelda was speaking quietly to the marshmallow on her shoulder, Link was chatting to the man in the helmet. He wandered forward, uncertain and awkward – and ran into that suit of armor.

"I'm sorry," he said, not sure where to look.

A chuckle issued from underneath the helmet, smudged between two gargantuan, circular soldiers. "It's fine."

In the silence, they both looked toward the window, where Marth caught his first glimpse of the Challenger.

He was rugged, tough, and strong; his bulk suggested just how very muscular he was as he stretched his arms. A thick golden blade was in his grip – and Marth saw everything Link had said was true. The handle had room for two hands, while the Challenger swung it over his head casually with only one hand. A frayed red cape hung from his shoulders, and it was evident he was no royalty: scuffed brown boots, tattered clothes, and a scrap of cloth served as a bandana. Marth observed his face, and was rather surprised in his findings: though he appeared no older than twenty-three, he looked as though he had lived a million years. A million years' worth of misery, of pain, of fighting. This man was no newcomer to the world of ceaseless brawls. His face was marked with the lines of battle – the scars that transformed him from innocent to murderer. He too could stand where he was and look back, wishing for the days before the fray was all he lived in…This man was no stranger to war, and he had lived it all.

"Wow…" the prince muttered. There was something so impressive, so intimidating about the great warrior as he waited, his expression impassive. "I wonder who will fight him."

Zelda twisted abruptly at the sound of these words, and unexpectedly her hand clawed into his arm.

"Zelda—?"

Mario had heard. He spun around from his spot in front of the window, where he had been contemplating with Luigi. He advanced on Marth, as the prince tried to comprehend the princess's actions.

"Who will fight him? Well, I was wondering the same thing, newcomer!" Mario said loudly, and some space was cleared between the two, leaving an oval around them. Marth gritted his teeth.

"We need someone brave – someone experienced, someone unscarred…Marth! How about you? After all, you were confident and interesting enough to make it here, and your fighting is up to standards."

Behind him, Samus blushed angrily. Stupid, stupid Mario. She cursed him in the safety of her helmet, as Link rolled his eyes. Grudge-holder.

Marth was in disbelief. "You want me…to fight _him._"

Mario grinned innocently, embracing the idea whole-heartedly. "Precisely!"

It wasn't that Marth couldn't do it – but this wasn't just! This Challenger was blatantly stronger, larger, and more powerful than the prince. Not to mention the fact he looked dangerous. And that golden blade looked really sharp. Why was Mario doing this? He was a newcomer! His first brawl had been against the King himself – and even if he'd won, that had been sword against fist. Granted, Marth would actually be improved in a swordfight, but it was the fact that the Challenger's sword was so much larger than his; it looked as though it could snap Falchion in half.

Then it came to him – Marth was going to lose. That was a given. But in doing so, it would show all the other Smashers how he couldn't stand up to the reputation he'd unknowingly set, defeating Mario in his first melee.

But this also taught Marth something. He would lose, and that would mean this newcomer would join the brawl. Mario obviously didn't care what happened in the competition as long as he got his revenge. Or perhaps put better, Mario was blinded by his own selfish interests.

And that would be his greatest folly; Marth would make sure of it.

Squaring his shoulders, he grasped Falchion. How he loved that blade; the sword that had saved his life countless times, always striking down every enemy. It was nearly infallible, perfectly honed and harmful, biting with excellent execution and extreme accuracy…simply put, the best sword around...Never had it failed him, never had it lost to a foe...

Marth prepared to lose, took a deep breath, and stepped into the simulator room.

* * *

A/N: **Whew…I'm exhausting myself. Honestly, I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in so long… all for the sake of writing! Either way, it's my choice. So. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was tedious, I know, boring, blah, and tiring…for those of you that fell asleep, I foreshadowing in this chapter. but if you don't care too much, the only plot development is Marth will fight the challenger.**

**To be honest, I didn't have too much fun with this chapter until the end. Please, bear with me, I'm sleep-deprived and hungry…not to mention during half of this I was distracted by the Rolling Stones on TV. (They're my favorite band EVER by the way, so if any of you are searching for some brownie points…) Plus I just watched The Crazies, Zombieland, and Paranormal Activity, so I'm checking over my shoulder every five seconds. **

**Well, read, enjoy, review! Please…PLEASE…I'm pretty disappointed by the lack of reviews,(mostly on my other fics, I'm happy here) but I will address my faithful reviewers…if you don't care, then just skip down to click the little Review button..is it that hard? :) **

***I know all these reviewers weren't for The Prince's Tale, but I'll just glomp them all here...I'm sorry I'm so feckless...especially since it took so long for this chapter to go up...***

**Thanks to –ZeldaDweeb- (by the way, your life isn't determined yet), Guessworks (THANK YOU SO MUCH! =]]) to Anyone () who REALLY needs to get an account :D, to JSparks (awww, thank you!) to Laurarokks, (thanks!) to momo1221 (wow, that's crazy! Thank you for reviewing!) to Mariko Midori (Thanks for reviewing!) to EggplantWtich (you are truly a puzzle. I'm really gonna try hard to impress you, by the way. Also, this story won't follow romance too keenly..but I'm a hopeless romantic of a 13 year old girl. It'll happen somewhere.) to sippurp123 (thank you!) and..that's it. **

**So thank you for adding this to story subscription/favorite stories, or author alert. I thank you all so much; I really feel loved. It's amazing. ;) **

**All that aside, thank you so much for reading. ~ClumsyHeart 17**


	5. Blunt

A/N: **yeah…that whole, don't update for like two or three weeks thing…I'm so embarrassed. I'm sorry, to those who actually cared! I feel really bad. Er, I kind of lost faith in this…I'll try to find it again, though…All in all, thank you if you're still reading this, and enjoy.**

**The Prince's Tale**

**Chapter 5: **_**Blunt**_

The prince stared up at the bloody sky, his blue eyes unseeing. Little patches of different colors were swarming his eyesight, preventing his peripheral vision from working properly. And that wasn't really a great thing, considering he was on the ground of a bridge, fighting to the death.

Perhaps it wasn't exactly 'to the death'; but Marth had no idea what happened when you were knocked out. He knew, though, that he would find out by the end of this match.

The Challenger loomed over him, his bulky figure shielding Marth from the setting sun. But the prince was slightly bemused, in his stunned state: why hadn't the Challenger ended it? In battle, as both of them would surely know, you could _never _miss an opportunity, _ever._ Why? Because the foe wouldn't either.

On the contrary, the navy-haired man simply stood there, waitingfor the prince to regain his stance. Staring at him intently, assuming it was some kind of trap, Marth spat blood out of the side of his mouth, then slowly rolled into a kneeling position. Never breaking eye-contact, his bruised fingers felt about for his discarded sword. Once they skimmed the faithful hilt, two things happened at once: Marth clutched it to him, relieved, then thrust it to the sky, tilted towards the Challenger; the other man threw his giant golden blade out also, and it clanged into the prince's with a shower of sparks. They remained there for a fraction of a second; just long enough for the two men to nod at each other, then, with a fierce battle cry, leap into the fray again.

Second by second the clock ticked away, as each man battled ferociously for the title of 'champion'. Admittedly, the Challenger was rather impressed the obvious royalty's swordplay, but no fancy instructor could teach you war's unwritten rules: kill or be killed.

That being said, the Challenger was a hard competitor, unyielding and brawny; his strength alone was already a match for Marth. He was nearly superhuman, the way he hacked and slashed and pushed the prince off with his sword. Marth was astonished at the determined, resolute fire in his eyes, the will by which the Challenger bested him.

The opposing swordsman swiped his sword powerfully where Marth's head had been, as the prince twisted underneath it, taking the opportunity to stab at the Challenger's leg, but he had already jumped away. Marth was already following him, however, and quickly went in for a series of lightning-fast strikes. The Challenger couldn't follow them, and simply held up his sword in defense, thinking, _this is why I should carry a shield. _But he didn't think there was much of a point. They were tiresome and heavy to lug around, and he liked to have the prospect of using both hands on his two-handed sword, precisely for the move he was about to use.

Marth had flipped away as the Challenger had swung at him again, forcing the prince out of his dancing strokes. Then he dashed forward, thinking to overwhelm the Challenger by speed, but it wasn't as Marth intended.

He was too fast and astounded to stop, but he knew what was going to happen. As he rushed forward, by chance, he flicked his eyes upward. There they saw the sword of the Challenger ascending high above his head. Flames as blinding as the sunset behind them began to eagerly lick the blade, leaving Marth dumbfounded. How was he doing that…?

He didn't have much time to guess as he crashed straight into the fiery sword as the Challenger drove it down. It collided on the stone in a firework of rubble and embers, the man looking pleased yet apprehensive.

Marth, however, bloody and beat, lurched to his feet. He had landed in a dank, mysterious place, black and cold. It had a musty scent to it, but he couldn't gain his bearings in such a dark place. Cheers from above echoed around the chamber, allowing him some small sense of the size of it. He had no idea what to do, though. Gazing upward didn't help much: all he could observe was the outline of the bridge above him.

Unexpectedly a small, circular pad came zooming into the room, beeping and luminescent. The medieval ruler scrutinized it warily. What was it? He grew alarmed as it gently nudged his leg.

Uncertain what to do, he climbed circumspectly onto it, deciding that it was there to return him to the match. A glowing ring around the spherical platform burst to life, and different bolts of light began to chase each other around in patterns. Marth was mesmerized by them, but maybe that was the idea, because had he glimpsed the speed by which they were soaring to the bridge, he might have thrown up.

He didn't feel very good, as it was; but thankfully, the second his feet touched the solid ground of the bridge, it altered into the white simulator room. I say thankfully because it was over rather swiftly, so if someone had blinked, they would have missed it.

The Challenger stepped off the platform, balancing his burly gait rather gracefully. Prince Marth, on the other hand, lifted his foot to take a step – and deftly fell off the block.

As he lay there on the ground, his injuries all began to make themselves known, his bruises increasingly throbbing and cuts gradually stinging. He winced slightly, but then closed his eyes as the world began to spin around him. This was to no avail, however, because it seemed to him as though he were free-falling through space.

Through his dazed, ringing, and bewildered world, he managed to make out the sound of footsteps rushing to him. He felt a cool hand on his forehead, and the light, silky feel of it made him think of the Princess Zelda. Upon opening his eyes a cinch, and peering through his foggy vision, he discovered he was correct.

"You see, Princess," he slurred, endeavoring to sit up, "Everything's fine."

With that, he promptly threw up.

Zelda didn't even appear bothered; instead, she tore her glove off of her arm and used it to wipe Marth's mouth. He himself was repulsed at the vomit on his lips, and now on her glove, and he was growing increasingly mortified.

"'s…I'm s-sorry, Princess, I'm sorry…"

The princess put the back of her hand to his face again, on his forehead, then on both cheeks. Her touch soothed him, and he felt abruptly exhausted. Attempting to control his swaying stomach, he sat up, his legs spread apart. His midnight-blue bangs were pasted together with sweat, hanging over his forehead like icicles as he leaned over and tried to flush the vile taste from his mouth.

"Hey," said a voice. Marth took a moment to compose himself, then glanced up. There was the Challenger, a concerned expression on his rough face. "You okay?"

Though his tone of voice was sincere, it only made the prince more humiliated. He nodded.

The great man held a hand out, and Marth took it. One tug, and he was right up in the air again. He shuddered, but managed to steady himself. Zelda rose elegantly after him, like a bud blossoming in the spring sunshine. Marth saw the warrior's eyes stray to her more than once.

"Nice fighting out there. Don't worry about that," he told the prince, gesturing to the bile on the floor. Marth turned red, but the man continued, "You fell several stories. I took a peek over the edge, you know, out of curiosity. That is a _long_ way to fall."

Marth gave a slight, shaky laugh. "Well, I think I'm just awfully out of shape. Or you're just an amazing competitor. Honestly, I've never seen swordplay like that. I could really use a lesson or two."

The man shrugged his massive shoulders. "It wasn't much. Though I was real worried for a bit there. I'm Ike Greil." He held out his hand again, and Marth shook it. The man, or Ike's, hand was rough and rugged, as if he'd been practicing swordplay all his life.

"P – Marth," the prince said, his tongue nearly betraying him. He wasn't sure why he decided against telling Ike his true title, but maybe it was because he was intimidated by him. Either way, he felt he needed to gain Ike's respect. And for some reason, the vibe off of this man didn't say he listened much to authority.

Ike nodded. "Where you from?"

"Er – Altea. You?" Marth casually asked, hoping this wouldn't enlighten Ike.

Ike answered, "Crimea. I think I've heard of Altea, you know, in passing. But by what I've gathered, it's really gone to the dogs, hasn't it?" He let out a short, barking laugh.

Marth looked away. "Yeah," he agreed. "Sure has."

Princess Zelda, whom had remained quiet this whole time, ultimately spoke up. "Hello, Ike Greil," she said, sweeping a little ways in front of Marth. "I'm Princess Zelda of Hyrule."

Immediately Ike knelt before her, his face toward the ground.

That same expression of weariness was upon her countenance as she whispered quietly, "Rise."

She held her hand out instead, for him to take it. He did, a look of wonder on his face, until he carefully masked it. "Hello. It's nice to meet you."

She hypnotized him with a paralyzing smile. "It's nice to make your acquaintance. However, I must be off; you know, this and that. Marth, I do hope you feel alright. Please, if I can be of any service, feel free to contact me. You know where I'll be." With that, she strolled out of the room, so gracefully, so beautifully it looked like dancing.

Ike's jaw was slack as she left them room. His eyes were huge as he turned back to Marth, who couldn't help but break into laughter.

"Wow…are all the women here like that?" Ike inquired, after he finally gained his voice back.

Marth chuckled, "I don't know. I only just got here."

"Really? Is that usual? This place doesn't seem that friendly…"

"I asked that too. I suppose it's because our two countries are so near to each other."

"Yet I've never heard a lot about Altea…" Ike mused. "Oh well. About her," he smiled mischievously, gesturing toward the doorway. "How long have you two been together?"

Marth decided he liked him, though he was shocked. "Oh, no, never."

Ike cocked an eyebrow. "Really? It seemed like…what with the way she was all behind you, and such…and the 'you know where I'll be', and how concerned she was…and the fact both of you are royal, I assumed you were betrothed or something—"

This man was obviously far cleverer than Marth had realized. "How did you know?" he interrupted. Ike's navy eyebrow was still cocked as he answered,

"Well, look at me. Look at you. It ain't exactly hard."

Then why did he say that about Altea? _Because it's true,_ the voice in his head answered him. Or perhaps Ike just didn't care what people thought of him. His comment hadn't really hurt Marth's feelings, though. The two chortled, the prince a little bashful, and then the King himself sauntered in.

Ike was astounded, to say the least, as Mario began to address him contemptuously. "Greetings, Ike Greil of Crimea. It is a great honor to join us, so I congratulate you on your fighting. Of course, don't be arrogant, because the first match is always the easiest."

Marth narrowed his keen eyes, but did not deign to glower at Mario.

"Once all of our new recruits are installed, we shall begin the Tournament. As of then, you will train and practice to be prepared. You will be rooming with Marth, seeing as you two arrived so closely together, and share such great similarities in terms of fighting skills."

The prince ignored the savior of Mushroom Kingdom yet again, but this made Marth eager, because Ike already seemed like a friend. He grinned over at him, but the warrior was staring at Mario in blunt stupefaction.

"What?" asked the short plumber harshly. "Did I not make things clear enough for you?"

Snagging the evident disdain, the warrior said, "No, I got that. I'm just trying to comprehend why you're so short and bitter."

Prince Marth, in a very un-princely and impish manner, could not contain a great eruption of laughter. As Mario's face bypassed purple, Ike's expression was impassive, just as Marth had noticed earlier, and it did not change.

"Don't judge a man by his size. That's superciliousness," Mario gritted, as Ike looked down at him, glanced over at Marth, raising a skeptical eyebrow, then back down at the King of Melee.

"Right…I'll keep an eye on my boots, you keep an eye out for mousetraps. Nice to meet you, Mario." With a great swirl of his scarlet, tattered cape, Ike swept out of the room impressively. Marth followed, and only when they were out of Mario's shocked eyesight and ear-range did Ike's aloof countenance shatter. The two shared a long bout of laughter, until their sides hurt and they couldn't breathe. After a while, they made their way to their room, and at the end of the day, Marth smiled.

He'd finally found a friend.

* * *

A/N: **Hahaha, awww! I love those two. I actually had MUCHO fun writing this, well, more towards the end. It was pretty hard to write the beginning; I need to walk around a bit, grab a drink, do some dancing before I could finish this. Urg. Yeah, I'm REALLY sorry about the whole not updating thing…I kind of lost my faith…I'm still not really that sure about this anymore…wellp…and please excuse any grammar mistakes. :/ *and I know this is a really weird chapter name..please forgive me, I had abosultely no idea what to call it. If you have a better idea, feel free to drop it in your review!***

**Anyway, thank you soooo much for reading and reviewing the last chapter! It's been so long, I forget who did review, but thank you so much. I hope you enjoyed, and I'd love a review, muah!**

**~ClumsyHeart17**


	6. Like It Used To Be

A/N: **So...random update. Well. Enjoy this chapter of the Prince's Tale!**

**Like It Used To Be**

When Samus rose that next morning, the first thing that entered her cloudy mind was what no one else was supposed to know:

The next tournament was set to start that morning.

She groaned, her green eyes squinting groggily at the sunrise. It was hazy and fresh outside, and the bright gold sun was peaking timidly over the rolling hills of the Manor. A rejuvenating mist was trickling gently through the open glass-paneled, floor-length windows, and seeped a bit chillingly around her bed. She drew herself up slowly, reluctantly shuddering off Sleep's warm clutches. Stifling a yawn with a long-fingered hand, the galactic warrioress gazed out the window.

Dawn was her favorite time of the day, when everything was clean and promising and new. It was as if the earth remade itself, cleared its memory of things that had passed, and instead looked forward to the things that would come to pass. The flowers spread their delicate petals every morning in welcome for that new day, hugging in the warm sunshine that greeted them with abounding promises. Anything could happen in a day, and though this could be for the worst, there was also just the same amount of chance that it would be for the better.

In her baggy cotton pants and ragged sweater, Samus was an undesirable silhouette in the sun's rays, but she looked radiantly beautiful as they splashed across her face. Her blond hair was disheveled, but it shimmered with tawny streaks as she greeted the day.

But slowly her smile grew cold. It faded down into the hard lines of a frown, the same look of displeasure she contented – protected – herself with. Nobody could really tell the loneliness that she had buried deep inside of her, the insecurities that haunted her, the fear of the unnamable – or, perhaps, something she just refused to name.

And she turned away from the longing sunshine, already painting the same daily mask back onto her face, hiding away her fears, her hopes, and herself.

Nobody really knew the extent of Samus's heart.

Nobody, it seemed, except for the eternally silent sunrise.

* * *

As Samus stepped down the steps leading to her room, she remembered rather abruptly what had first awoken her this morning.

Brawl was set to start today.

Of course, she wasn't to know that; but thankfully her suit had helped her pick up what Mario had been hissing into Luigi's ear. And what she had heard was rather humorous, and she couldn't wait to tease him about it.

Luigi, of course. She wouldn't be caught dead teasing _Mario._ She was brave, but not stupid.

She'd learned that the younger brother had fumbled up the invitations, and had instead sent some of the missing Melee Smashers their acceptance letters. Actually, this was going to cause quite some trouble, considering they'd be allowing in more spots than they had first realized, thanks to Luigi's mistake. And Marth had been so unusual because he had shown up on the brink of the Brawl tournament, when he had originally been invited to Melee. And closely followed by the big spiky-haired warrior, who was an obvious Brawl competitor, and actually the first one to finally arrive, after having _apparently _sent the invitations weeks ago. All those weeks were supposed to have been used to get the Brawl fighters settled in, trained, and ready for the tournament, and now Mario had quite a mess to sort out.

Samus chuckled. Poor, dumb Luigi.

It wasn't his fault, really. He'd been brainwashed by his brother. He'd always been a quiet, outspoken soul, easily influenced and quickly caught up. Factor in Mario's (usually) very persuasive personality, and Luigi's trust for him, and it was easy to understand the source of the younger one's fascination. But he was gentle, and kind, especially to the younger Smashers, so Samus dearly hoped he could find the strength to discover his own identity. But perhaps he simply _had _to latch on to someone so he could feel fulfilled. Sometimes that was the way it was.

Ms. Aran sauntered confidentially down the bleak hallway, looking straight ahead. The grey walls passed by her without a sound.

Running a hand through her hair, she contemplated on how lucky she was to be a veteran. Certainly the Manor was upgraded, more modern and much more comfortable, but for some reason nostalgia dwelled upon the old days in the first competition. When it had just been her and her tight group of close friends, but these friendships were different.

They were special, rare, and unique in a way she couldn't explain; there was some sort of irrevocable bond that is formed between two people when they lift their weapons together in battle, whether it be against a common enemy or friendly fighting against each other.

Back in the days when they'd been young, reveling in their recent, only glory; back in the time before they were legends, and instead heroes for a simple thing they had down. Falcon was the new hot racer on the scene, and young Link was a humble hero with sparkling eyes of blue. They'd glowed when he'd glanced at her, smiling gently. A look of content and enjoyment in life was always kindled in those eyes, so different from now. Now it pained Samus to look into the Hero of Time's eyes: so full of torment, misery, indecision and unhappiness, all trying to be masked underneath a cool wall of casualty.

But Samus had known him when his heart was glimpsed through his eyes, and when his laugh was full and loud. Polite and gentle as he was, he was a fierce and proud warrior, though completely modest and humble when it came to his deeds. Now he acted laidback, a move she suspected was more the lack of energy than the wish to seem casual, but both seemed to be at play. Either way, Samus wanted the old Link back.

And Falcon! He'd been a braggart of the worst sort, so totally opposite of Link she wondered, now, in the present and aloof hallway, how they had stuck together so well.

She shrugged, but as soon as the thought entered her mind she couldn't seem to brush it away. _I suppose it was me._

Biting her lip for a second, Samus tried to ignore the rush of strange feelings that were pushed into her brain as she remembered the weird incident with Douglas yesterday. What had happened? _Nothing. Nothing happened._

She shook her head, her yellow ponytail whipping her neck, clearing her mind of all these abrupt recollections. She'd arrived at the door to the café, and she pushed it open lightly.

The café was the small extension onto the dining room, which, when she glimpsed it, was currently set for a well-polished breakfast. Toads were waltzing among the brightly-lined tables, taking orders, delivering food. The café was nearly the same, in elegance, but much smaller in size, with a few booths and a few tables. It really reminded Samus of a classy diner. You had your own access to the food, which was much quicker; it essentially had been designed for Smashers that had woken up late, or had the first matches of the day. However, Samus always preferred to eat here: less people to see.

Since it was her normal time of getting up (daybreak) she wasn't worried of seeing too many people, but there was always an occasional fighter worrying nervously over an upcoming melee. Today it appeared to be…none other than the newest (or one of the newest) competitor here.

He jerked his head up as she approached, slouched and looking as though he was in intense thought in one of the small 2-person booths. And though she glanced at him for a second, she waited for him to speak as she continued to the refrigerator. When he didn't say anything, she just opened the chrome appliance and rummaged about in it for a few seconds. As she bent down to examine the lower shelves, hoping for a bit of that secret scone Peach had snuck in (eating unhealthily was somewhat frowned upon), he finally spoke.

"Couldn't figure out that damn thing."

She simply nodded, knowing he could see it because of his angle to her. She wasn't much in a talking mood, having realized either someone had thrown out the scrumptious pastry or eaten it all.

Sighing, she settled on selecting a bottle of pure orange juice from the top shelf and paced the room to grab herself a glass. That was when Ike tried again.

"What are you doing up so early? I didn't realize anyone else woke up so quickly."

_Damn,_ she thought to herself, seeing as it was an open-ended question and she had to answer.

And perhaps Ike knew that, because he was smirking a little bit – just a twitch of his lips, but it was caught by the bounty huntress. What, had he taken it as a challenge?

Well, it appeared as though he was quite sharp.

And for some reason that caught in her mind, fitting right along with all the other weird things she'd been thinking about this morning. So after mulling it over for just a second, as she poured her juice, she plunked herself down across from the newcomer and took a sip.

"One thing you'll be smart to learn is that there are a lot of things to realize, in a competition like this." She glanced at him.

He didn't miss a beat. "And I assume you know that better than anyone?"

She nodded. "Absolutely. As a veteran I should," she added, flaunting her title in a bit more of a flashy way than she wanted to.

Now his emotionless face showed a hint of surprise, and he said, "You've been here since the beginning, then? Have you ever gotten to leave? It seems as though you should, but with the recent mix-up I wasn't sure."

Now Ms. Aran was caught off-guard. Startled, she asked, "How did you know about that?"

"The guy in the green adores the big guy in the red, and he'll reveal – or clarify – anything he isn't actually supposed to if he hears that Mario needs to hear it," the swordsman shrugged.

Ah ha, manipulative, but very quick. "Impressive that you caught on that fast. Maybe you'll do alright in this tournament." Samus turned her head in his direction now, and for a moment they locked eyes. His eyes held much more emotion than his incomprehensible expression, but just as masked. It seemed as though it'd take a lot to even learn how to read those ultramarine orbs.

And he was stunned by the beauty in her jade eyes, but the tense moment passed as she took a long drink of orange juice from the crystal glass.

"Yeah, I've been here since the tournament way back when," she started, mostly to gloss over the awkward silence. "Back when it was only the twelve of us. Me, Falcon, and Link…" Here her voice faltered, as once again those abrupt reminiscences commanded her attention.

Ike looked on curiously, but he asked in a softer tone as a response to her sudden lack of attention, "What was it like?"

She flashed him a short, mirthless grin. It was sad as the lonely ocean, and forgotten traces of longing could be glimpsed. "It was…incredible. That was back when everything was…not the way it is now…" And all at once the softness of her face, voice, and smile were cast aside as rain washes away the sun. She stood up, blond hair swishing about, and fixed him in an uncalled for icy look. But even she wouldn't leave in such a way. No, no, she was polite enough to leave him with an obviously false excuse.

"Excuse me, but I have to go. I'll see you around, Ike." And she turned to go.

"Wait!" he called, rising slightly out of the booth. She looked over her shoulder, but avoided his eyes. What was going on with her today? She needed to get her boundaries back in check before she did anything stupider. What was happening with her? This was why she tried not to get mixed up with people in the first place.

"Don't go. I'd like to talk more, we've barely had a conversation," he appeared to plead, but in true fashion to herself, Samus wondered what his true intentions were.

Of course, she didn't realize what he'd said had been a rare display of honesty on his part.

"Another thing that you need to realize, Ike," she said, facing forward again, and slowly stepping out of the room, "is that I don't have conversations."

Nor would she ever, except with the eternally silent sunrise.

A/N: **So…look, I'm feeling MUCH much better, and I'm feeling a lot happier. This came out of nowhere…I really can't remember where the inspiration came from…I know it only included Marth once, but I decided to go 3-person omniscient instead of limited…but I won't make it confusing. Oh, and also, all I can say about this story is don't jump to conclusions. Whatsoever. **

**Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this random update of a story on a site I said I was leaving…however, due to circumstances, I probably still will. It depends on if I can ever turn the things running through my mind into a novel. If I can start, I'll drop FF to focus on that. Then maybe come back, or post randomly. It felt nice to be writing on this story again. **

**But um, other than that, I want to thank those of you who are reading this that encouraged me with your extremely kind words when I announced I was leaving. Thank you so much. Your words meant so incredibly much to me, and truly helped me along. Thank you.**

**~Araceli L**


	7. The Dog Days Are Over

**A/n: So, this chapter is dedicated to MessangerofDreams. Why? Because I freakin' love that guy.**

_**The Prince's Tale: The Dog Days Are Over**_

Just a day after he had been admitted to what Mario so lovingly titled "the finest Tournament to ever behold the earth" (he'd heard him bragging to the pink-dressed lady), Marth was abruptly awoken to that same shrill bell he'd heard last night.

"Challenger approaching! Challenger approaching! Challenger approaching!"

The startled prince sprang up in confusion, but in the bed over Ike grunted in annoyance, then pulled the covers over his head.

"Ike," Marth called, slipping his sword back in his sheath, "would you care to find out who it is?"

A snore answered him.

"Alright," he said cheerily, and then walked to the door. "I'll see you down there!"

He left the chilly room and sauntered down the bleak hallways, behind other crowds of Smashers. They were all cramming into one corridor, all with very bewildered looks on their faces. Whispers floated about him as he made his way through the group: "What's going on?" "This isn't normal." "How can this be?" "This doesn't make sense…" "What about the Tournament?"

For some reason, that question lodged into his mind, and he couldn't seem to shake it. But he ignored it as he continued on, to the same room where he'd proven his worth only a day before. As the anxious fighters trickled, far too slowly, into the surrounding areas around the white-walled room, Marth caught a glimpse of the newest fighter.

Or should he say fighters.

Fevered murmurs, and quickly turning into cries of confusion, were filling through the room, and already rumors were snaking through the people, reaching Marth's ears. They were of little use, however, because any person with rational thinking knew the boy with the angelic wings was not a spawn of the devil, bringing with him two demons in the form of an odd blue hedgehog and a colossal, clothed penguin with a looming mallet.

As intensely perplexed as Marth was to see these odd creatures, he peered around the other Smashers' heads to gain a better view of them. The boy, whose deep brown shocks of hair were hiding his blushing face, had twitching wings of the purest white; they were beautiful to behold, indeed. Whoever this child was, he was blessed. And beside him, the giant bird gazed about proudly, wearing a smile upon his beak. He twirled the hammer in his mitten-ed – er, paws, wings, hands? – in an intimidating way. And, his upright body jerking and shaking, was that strange blue rodent. _With shoes. _Utterly befuddled, Marth tried to walk closer, but it was no use. Eventually he gave up and waited for the newcomers to be tested.

And he saw the short, red-clothed man slide into the room, and give them his best speech, arms spread wide. The boy looked timid, the hedgehog taken aback, and the penguin unimpressed. But before they could speak, Mario challenged them to the duel. And then, turning to the gathered Smashes, he called upon three people to face them.

This instantly drew gasps from the fighters; three on three? What an abomination! How were the newcomers to fight? Against one or all?

And the ones he picked were strange to Marth's eyes, despite everything he'd seen. One was the outlandish white alien, whom he'd seen talking to Link; the second was a hulking beast of a man, with sickly-looking greenish skin; the last was a slinking figure, slight and nimble, with a long braid flowing behind it. He couldn't distinguish if it was a male or female, but he or she moved with a beautiful grace.

And they mounted the stage; the Smashers watched in anticipation as they were transported to another world. Here, a bright blue sky blazed in the background, and a large city was seen below. In the corner of the screen, "Battlefield" was imprinted, a rather normal name. In the slightly limited space, the three confused contestants quickly had fallen off the edge, but the timer also in the corner said they had plenty of time. (Mario hadn't bothered explaining everything to them. All in all, he seemed in rather a rush.)

The hedgehog caught on the quickest; in fact, he had it from the get-go, and had only fallen due to a well-placed punch from the titanic man. As though he were vengeful, he charged at the man, but mostly everyone watching was blinded by his speed. Was it possible something could be _that _fast? He left them dazed, the way he sped around the stage, but a few who knew Sonic weren't surprised. Those like Mario, watching with his arms crossed, rolled their eyes.

"Wow," Marth muttered, staring up admiringly at the fighters. Mario, catching his look, suddenly spoke in an abruptly loud voice.

"Why, Prince Marth, why are you here? I was unaware you had any expertise in these things."

Marth raised an eyebrow. "It's a fighting tournament, is it not? Don't I have just as much a right to study the contestants I will be competing with in a few days?"

"True," Mario acknowledged, "But as a prince, I just assumed you would be more interested in royal matters – oh, I don't know, politics, books, the Princess…"

And the Prince's face distorted into shock, his mouth agape and his brows furrowed. It was obvious what he was getting at, but why? _Why?_ What had he done to him, and what was he gaining?

And unfortunately, more utterings wormed throughout the observing audience, and Marth felt his face flush furiously. This was not good.

But what could he do? So he turned his attention back to the fight, simply praying for the best and dearly hoping the rumor wouldn't spread to Link.

And easily the rodent had the man off the edge, and with a surprising twist, yet again. The penguin was having just as much luck; he was pummeling the alien, with blows from that mallet that looked terribly painful. Again and again the white being was thrown into the air, without a good mid-air jump.

And the boy was doing well also; despite his once-meek look, he'd broken his bow into two swords and was slashing and hacking the air almost as fast as the hedgehog could run. He was battling the ninja figure, but his fight was slightly more difficult. The slim person slipped and slid around, crouching low and leaping high into the sky. When he had his back turned, the person fired a needle, causing the boy to flinch, and then wrapped him up in a clinking chain. But as he or she went in for a kick, the angel thrust the swords in a circular way, and the person was sent flying. A quick triumphant smile wound his face, and then he concentrated on the greenish man.

And almost all at once, the three challengers had shoved their opponents into defeat; the clock tolled, and the floating platform disappeared around them. All three newcomers dropped onto the stage, and despite the penguin plunging his head downward to prevent blacking out, they all kept their composure, much better than Marth had, anyway.

But this time Mario didn't suddenly rush away. Instead he trotted over to the threesome and congratulated them, where the prince guessed he was saying something along the lines of what he'd said to Ike.

Remembering his friend, Marth turned to return to the room to tell him of what had happened, and as he walked away, the crowd parted before him gladly. Puzzled, he ignored it, but as he was leaving the hall a single whisper found its way to him: "To see the Princess, no doubt."

It was only his second day, and rumors were already burning about him? How much of this would he have to suffer?

For the rest of the week, apparently. As Marth became adjusted to daily life at the Mansion (really, it wasn't much different to his life at home: get up early, eat fine breakfast, read, eat a fine lunch, train, then eat a fine dinner and sleep. The only difference was his limitless number of books and the much more intense training, which he practiced with Ike) the only thing he couldn't bear was the glares of the Smashers. Did Mario really have that power, to persuade them all with a single word? He hadn't known Princess Zelda for over twenty-four hours, and already people were assuming incredibly irrational things about them. And all because of Mario.

All because of Mario, and Marth was nearly being shunned from the society in the Mansion. But like any true prince, he merely hid it behind a mask of aloofness, while his heart cried out in frustration and sometimes despair. What would it take to return to his (however slight it had been) good reputation?

It wasn't that they were ignoring him completely. No, they still responded when he talked to them, but with disdain and impoliteness. The only person who was still friendly to him was Ike, who seemed to be either uncaring or oblivious to what talking to Marth was doing to his reputation. And as they talked more and more, Marth grew to appreciate him greatly. It was a testament of his friendship that he still stuck by Marth, despite what the people were whispering, and it wasn't just that. Ike had a sense of superiority and pompousness of one who has seen many things, as Marth was sure he had. It didn't make him arrogant, just faintly thinking he'd seen it all. But for someone as discontent as Marth, it was a great change.

But had all of this happened because of one thing Mario had said? Did he truly have _that much_ power? It was shocking and slightly scary to think what he could do when he desperately wanted to wound.

And every day more contestants arrived, seeking their entry. All of them succeeded, to the point where Marth wondered if Mario was letting them slip by. He couldn't understand why, though. But truthfully he couldn't figure out a lot of things about that man.

But on his fifth day at the Mansion, when he felt the rumors were at their worst (he'd been spotted in the library, asking Zelda for a definition to an ancient Hylian rune, by Peach) he'd escaped the stares by dodging into the next room he saw, but when he'd gone inside, he'd been amazed.

It was a small garden, adorned in warm shadow, which was the best way he could describe it. Hidden in shade, it was welcoming in its isolation, a tiny seclusion that was private and restful. Peaceful and still, a flicker of sunlight streamed in from a glittering opening on the mossy-rock roof. Soft grass bent underneath his feet, and miniature buds, in every color and texture, were popping out through the greensward. A medium-sized tree, great for the garden but relatively average in size, was sprouting next to the sunshine, casting a thin veil of darkness to the left of the place. The prince gazed about him in wonder as he stepped slowly in, oblivious to the woman sitting quietly in the branches of the tree.

But as he glanced up he jumped to see her there. "Hello?"

Deciding it was best, she gracefully dropped down from the branch. "Hello. You are Marth. I am Sheik. It is tolerable to make your acquaintance."

Cocking an eyebrow at her odd choice of words, he slowly made his way toward where she stood. As he came closer, he realized it was the ninja he had seen the week before, fighting the angel who he knew was named Pit, and she was obviously a woman. He hadn't seen her since then, and even now she seemed to blend into the shadows.

"Hello," he greeted, nodding slightly. It only felt right. "Um, may I ask why you're here?"

"I could do the same," she said idly, already seemingly uninterested, swinging her braid around and fingering it. Until she glanced up and pierced him with alarming, astounding ruby red eyes. He felt stricken almost, and she looked away, back down at the lengthy hair in her gloved hand. When he didn't respond, she looked up again. "We don't all hate you, you know," she said abruptly. He seemed to function upon hearing that, and finished the length toward her. She folded herself underneath the leaves of the tree, and he did the same. It felt oddly natural, as though her presence was directing him unconsciously.

"We do what Mario tells us to do, what he forces us, really. I do not think any of us truly hate you – loath or despise you. With the exception of people like Luigi"—here she chuckled, a handsome sound—"we are all simply surviving another day, so to speak."

"Why all the scorn, then, if they don't truly hate me?" Marth felt as though he was whining, but in reality he was simply a bit discouraged.

She laid her head against the tree, staring at the patterns the leaves silhouetted in the sun. "We are foolish, cowardly people, Marth." She sighed. "Please don't judge us as individuals by the way we all behave."

He felt himself growing aggravated. He said, "How am I supposed to learn about people if they won't speak to me?"

Her answer was simple. "Talk to them when they are alone. When they are not in danger of being heard by Mario of one of his followers."

"And who are his followers?"

"Everybody."

He looked at her now, in incredulousness. "And what do you mean?"

She gazed back at him. "We treat you with derision because we are afraid of Mario, of what he can do. You have seen him already in action; indeed, for some reason he marked you as a target your first day. As unfortunate as it is, you are already experiencing what most of us would go through if we ever defied him. By speaking to you, the one he loathes with all of his remarkably small heart, imagine what he would do to us."

It all made sense, though it didn't leave him with any hope. Shoulders slumped, he bowed his head.

"It is a terrible and nearly unbreakable cycle," Sheik continued, still looking at him. Then he felt a cool touch upon his chin, and the next thing he knew, he was staring into those bright red orbs. "But there is always hope," she said softly. "All we need is someone to come along and break the circle."

"How?"

She smiled, a kind-hearted and genuine smile. "Be the horizon."

"Can I?" He knew what she meant, surprising himself, but doubt was clouding his heart.

Sheik grinned wider. "Prove it during the tournament. Prove it to all of us, and we will rally behind you." Her words rang true, with hope and promise, and they empowered him. "The biggest person who you have to prove is yourself. The dog days are over, Marth. And you better be ready when the horses come.

"The dog days are over, and you better be ready to run."

**A/N: I really hope you enjoyed that, MessengerofDreams:) Thanks to EggplantWitch: dude, I'm so sorry I haven't replied yet. I'll be sure to send an email soon, and thanks for what you said:) PKLOVEOMEGA: GAH YOU HATE IKE? XD I'm such a fangirl. Thanks for reviewing! LizzieTheDiamond: Why, thank you. I appreciate it much, and it's always nice to have a new reviewer. MouseMaster42: hey! Thanks for the reviews and I really hope you got to this chapter! Imma go back to your story as soon as I can, and thanks for reviewing! And last but definitely not least, MessengerOfDreams: Hey, dude, I wanna thank you so much for everything you've said, in your reviews. They're incredibly thoughtful as well as amazingly encouraging, and I dedicated this chapter to you for several reasons. 1) you're awesome 2) I'm guaranteed a review now;) and 3) I knew you'd understand the music references and 4) you're an incredibly amazing dude. Thank you so much for your compliments on this story, it really made my day and I smile every time I see it. *accepts epicsauce awards with gratitude* **

**Well, that's it for now! Until later,**

**~Araceli L**


	8. Of Characters and Confusion

A/n: **Hello again, my fair peoples! If you have gotten this far, firstly I want to thank you. Secondly, I have an announcement! A contest, invented by MessengerofDreams, will be up and running soon! He, Kattheamazing, MouseMaster42, and I will be judging. Hope to see you entering! And thirdly, this beautiful chapter – probably the best in this story – was written by the fabulous MouseMaster42! I'd like you guys to give her a big round of applause. Thanks again, Mousey!:) **

**So, enjoy!**

_**Of Characters and Confusion**_

"_The dog days are over, and you better be ready to run."_

Marth blinked, thrown by that last remark. Up until that moment he had mostly understood what was being said—he understood that he was different (he knew that from the beginning), he understood that this place was, in a sense, trapped. In many ways, this situation was similar to the one he had grown up in. A strong man had taken over, and the people had initially supported him—for he was their natural leader anyway, but soon they realized that they had made a mistake, and it was too late to back out. Often you needed someone with new ideas to step in.

However, Marth wasn't quite sure he wanted to be that someone. Furthermore, he wasn't sure how much he could do at the moment, considering how unwilling anybody was to listen to him talk about normal things—much less radical things. As he turned the thoughts over in his mind, he turned his attention down to the grass upon which he and Sheik sat together. Without really noticing it, he started plucked a flower from a nearby plant and started methodically shredding the white petals in-between his fingers. Pearly scraps fell from his hand, littering the grass.

He heard a soft rustle of fabric beside him and turned his head to see Sheik standing over him, her slim frame blocking out a few beams of light streaming from in-between tree branches.

"Are you leaving already?" he asked, realizing that he was a little disappointed. This woman exuded some sort of peace, and Marth feared that that peace would leave him the second she did.

"I must be off," Sheik answered, piercing him again with her ruby-colored eyes. "Our leader's in an irritable mood as it is. And given the current situation, I think that you already have enough on your plate, do you not?"

Marth shrugged wordlessly, spinning the naked flower stem around in his hand, now wishing that he hadn't torn it up—for he vaguely remembered it being beautiful.

"Hey." Sheik bent at the waist, folding down so that her face was only a few inches from his. If he leaned forward just a few inches, their noses would have touched. A light frown creased her pale face as she slipped two fingers underneath Marth's chin, tilting his head up to look into his eyes. He froze at the touch, but looked up fearlessly into the dark red of her irises, his face devoid of emotion. His eyes were a dark blue and reminded Sheik of the ocean—expanding out to the horizon.

_Maybe this man can…_

"Chin up, okay?" she told him, her voice uncharacteristically brisk and _natural_—as if she were forcing her voice to remain level, without all the riddles. And then she left him in the garden, slipping soundlessly between the bushes to disappear into the shadows.

Marth remained sitting there for a long time, collecting his spiraling thoughts so that they could be locked away somewhere safe. He couldn't put a finger on what it was about Sheik, but she was interesting, if nothing else. She was obviously educated, given the way she talked. She spoke in riddles, as if she was worried that someone might be listening—but at the same time Marth felt like the meaning behind her words must be glaringly obvious. He just wasn't completely seeing it.

He continued sitting in the grass for the longest time, but as the sun inched its way to center stage in the sky, he stood up with a heavy sigh and made his way back into the castle. He paused in the doorway to let his eyes adjust, for everything seemed darker than usual after being outside for so long. As he debated what he should do next, he leaned up against the wall and quickly jumped away again, belatedly remembering how cold the stone was. Outside was warm and pleasant by comparison. For some unexplainable reason, he didn't feel as much of an outcast when he was outside, even though he was no less physically free outside than he was inside.

As Marth ran through possible locations to spend the rest of his day, he spotted a tall figure crossing through the corridor ahead, its broad shoulders silhouetted against the light coming from an adjacent room. Believing that it was Ike, Marth nearly called out, but decided against it at the last moment. He wasn't familiar with everyone yet, and he had no way of knowing for sure if that man was Ike or not. Calling out to anyone else could be dangerous.

The figure turned around, and Marth was immediately relieved that he hadn't said anything. This was the huge man who he had seen at the fight earlier this week—the one who had been beaten by the hedgehog; Sonic. The huge man's hair was gathered in oily-looking curls around his head in a strange imitation of a colonial wig, and despite the fact that he was attired in relatively normal clothing, he still gave off an other-worldly aura that hinted that this man knew much more than he let on—and he wasn't going to share any of it.

The man's beady eyes caught Marth staring, and he turned to face him. Marth quickly judged that this man was even taller than Ike—perhaps even stronger, but he (correctly) assumed that this would make him slow. A little of his worry evaporated, for if things ever got too close to blows, he could simply run. There was no doubt in his mind that he would be the faster of the two. The only concern was the damage running away would do to his already shaky reputation. Who would want to talk to him if he was portrayed as a coward along with being a pompous, stuck-up prince?

"You're one of the new ones," the man said matter-of-factly, his growl of a voice tinged with a rough court accent that made him sound rather civilized despite his disturbing appearance.

"Yes," Marth answered in the same tone. "You're not one of the original twelve."

"No," the man agreed. "That puts us in the same boat."

"Not really," Marth said awkwardly. "You are assured of your place here."

"So are you."

Once again, Marth found himself blinking confusedly. "Excuse me?" He took a step back, matching the step that this huge man had taken forward, keeping the distance between them the same. As it was, they were farther away from one another than one would normally be for conversation, and their voices were pitched louder as well. Nonetheless, Marth felt like he should keep his distance, at least for the time being, and the man accepted this and made no further attempt to come closer.

"You are assured of your place here as well," he repeated patronizingly, as if he was talking to a child. "You beat Mario. You are allowed to stay for as long as you wish. He has no right to get rid of you."

"So why have I become ostracized?" Marth couldn't help asking. "You're one of the few people who have spoken to me all week. What makes you different?"

The man shrugged his broad shoulders. "I don't have all that much to lose, so I can afford to speak to people others can't. Good luck to you, Challenger. Perhaps we'll meet in the arena."

"Perhaps," Marth answered coolly, ducking his head briefly as the man did the same. They edged around each other cautiously and were quick to walk away once they had passed. Neither one of them risked turning around. There was something about that man that made Marth think that if he turned around, he might find himself face to face with something sharp. He eventually decided—given the direction he was heading in—that he might as well just go to the library.

The library, like the garden, had a sort of sacred feel to it, similar to the feeling one gets when one walks into a cathedral; the same feeling that automatically makes one lower his voice and tread lightly across the floor. It was a wonderful, welcome feeling. The sort of feeling that cocooned Marth and allowed him to relax his tense shoulders and take a much-needed step back from the world.

His fingers trailed across the shelves until they picked an unmarked book up from the science-fiction section. He infinitely preferred reading fiction over non-fiction simply for the ability of fictional works to draw the reader into their pages with wonderful phrases and intricate characters. Non-fiction seemed rather pale and bland by comparison. Within the fiction genre, he preferred science-fiction and mystery over fantasy, for these things were not as familiar to him. Fantasy often struck a little too close to home for his tastes, and there was always something to be gleaned from a science-fiction book, what with all of its fancy gadgetry and terminology that he wouldn't have learned otherwise.

As he sank into the plush chair, he looked around the vast space, noticing how empty it seemed. He seemed to be the only one who came into the library on a regular basis. Every one and awhile he saw a Smasher come and go, but there was never the opportunity to strike up a conversation, as more often than not they seemed to skirt around him; taking balconies and staircases rather than just walking past him. Zelda never came to the library anymore (at least not that Marth had seen), and after the rumors Mario had been spreading, Marth could hardly blame her.

He cracked open the thick tome on his lap and got through about three pages before realizing that his thoughts had wandered to the point where he was reading the same sentence over and over without gathering any information from it. He snapped the book shut and set it on a nearby table, frustrated with his inability to concentrate. In the end, his thoughts just kept circling back to Sheik.

She was…unpredictable. There was something about the way she moved, or maybe the way she talked, that kept him thinking about her. She seemed to be different than everyone in that she was determined to say what needed to be said, regardless of the repercussions. She was encouraging, but she seemed to speak the truth. It seemed like she wouldn't say something unless she meant it.

Marth didn't get it. And yet he couldn't stop thinking about their encounter, replaying their conversation over and over in his mind.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the library doors banging open, shattering the silence of the room. With the sound, that room lost its feel of a sanctuary and returned to just being an ordinary—albeit large—book collection. Marth whirled towards the doorway, determined to give whoever disturbed his peace the best death glare he could until he realized that it wasn't an enemy standing before him—it was his friend.

"Morning," Ike said calmly as he strode into the room and picked up the book Marth had set aside, glancing at the unmarked cover and opening it to skim over the first page. "Were you busy?"

"No, not really. You? It's a bit early for training, but if you've got nothing else to do we could start now…" Marth trailed off, realizing that he was rambling.

Ike pulled a grimace and tossed himself into the chair next to Marth's. He sighed heavily before speaking as he ran a hand through his hair, spiking the navy strands out of his eyes. "Look, Marth, I never asked much about you earlier. Figured you wanted some closure, just like I do."

"Closure?" Marth echoed, his curiosity piqued as he realized exactly how little he actually knew about this person who he considered to be his only current friend.

The man next to him quickly looked away. "I didn't want to pry," he said quietly. "But I found out that you're the prince."

Marth sagged in his seat. "I am," he nodded, resigned to the conversation now. "What of it?"

Ike took a minute to decide how to phrase what he was going to say next. "Look, we're both just trying to get by, right? You're obviously having a harder time of it than I am, so I—"

"I'm managing just fine, thank you very much," Marth said crossly, the competitive part of him unwilling to look weak.

"Yeah?" Ike challenged. "When's the last time someone other than me talked to you decently?"

"This morning!" Marth fired back. "I've talked to a _few_ people this morning."

"Any girls?" Ike said as he flashed a disarming grin.

Marth smirked as the tension noticeably deflated. "Yes, as a matter of fact. She and I had a lengthy conversation."

"Ah…" Ike said knowingly, raising his eyebrows. "And did this lovely woman have a name, or does she only exist in that large head of yours? There's certainly room."

Marth rolled his eyes at the jest and reached across the small table to whack Ike's shoulder. "Of course she has a name, although I don't see why it's any business of yours."

Ike smacked the prince's hand away. "Come on," he teased. "You can't leave me in suspense like that. Who was it?"

Marth thought about it, finally deciding on some obscure reference that wouldn't give Sheik away. "She was a blonde. Full of grace and beauty, and _very_ good at intelligent conversation."

"Oh," Ike scoffed. "That's helpful."

"Isn't it?" Marth laughed.

The wide smile lingered on Ike's face for a few moments before dropping as he looked out of the window. "I wanted to say sorry," he said after a long pause. "I said some rude things about your country."

"They were true," Marth said. "You shouldn't have to apologize for speaking the truth."

"I usually don't," the larger man chuckled. "But I do make a point to apologize for ignorance, Highness."

Marth cringed a little in his seat—he had almost gotten used to just being called by name. "You shouldn't have to apologize for not knowing what no one told you," he said quietly, wondering why he kept having to restate these same facts in the same place. "I liked it a lot better when we talked like equals. If you insist on calling me Prince Marth, then let me call you…?"

"General. General Ike was my title. But you're right," Ike smiled in a faraway sort of way, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. "It's better if we talk like equals. After all, that is all we are here."

"Besides, rank doesn't matter all that much when we're all just trying to beat one another," Marth quipped. Ike barked out a cold laugh to match the dark humor. The laughter—a bright sound in what was becoming such a gloomy world, seemed to light up the small space, urging Marth into a spasm of quiet giggles as well.

When the chuckles died away and Marth's shoulders had stopped shaking, he leaned back in his chair with the intent to gather his thoughts as he looked at the ceiling, but he was immediately distracted by a young boy, clothed completely in white, leaning over the balcony rail to watch.

The boy noticed Marth looking at him and immediately broke into a wide grin. "Don't mind me," he called, his voice echoing loudly around the book-covered walls. "I'm just an observer."

"Pit?" Ike shouted up to him, making Marth wonder when they had met. He himself vaguely remembered this boy from the last batch of Challengers. This was that boy with wings.

The boy—Marth initially placed him at about fifteen years old, perhaps a bit younger—fearlessly jumped over the railing, plummeting what must have been at least two stories before unfurling wings of the purest white color that seemed as if they could have been made of sunlight itself. The pearly wings caught at the air and scooped the boy up from the ground before his sneakers could brush against the carpet. He flipped expertly through the air and landed lightly on his feet, his face flushed with childish excitement.

Marth, who had half-risen out of his seat with shock, sat back down again. His face had gone as white as the boy's wings when the child had jumped over the balcony, and the smallest hints of color were just starting to seep back in.

"Oh, you must be Prince Marth!" the boy said eagerly as he stuck his hand out in the prince's direction. "I heard about you from the others. Ike especially spoke highly of you!"

Marth shot Ike a questioning look as he shook the boy's hand.

Ike smirked and explained, "We met in the hallway a few days ago by accident. We both happened to be bored out of our minds, so we started talking. Pit, Marth." He nodded in both of their directions as they were formally introduced. "Marth, Pit."

"Have you guys met Ganondorf yet?" Pit asked, his voice as bright as his cobalt eyes. He appeared to be the sort of boy who was constantly happy and bubbly; a bright ray of light. Marth wondered why a child like him hadn't succumbed to Mario's brainwashing and was willing to talk to an outcast like himself. Perhaps that was just part of the boy's nature.

"I think so," the prince said thoughtfully. "Big, tall…"

"Scary?"

"A bit," Marth shrugged, settling into a more comfortable position in his chair as his heart rate finally started coming back down. "Not overly so. We were able to be civil with one another." He thought back to his encounter with the man, trying to pin-point what about him put people on edge. After thinking for a few minutes, he was unable to come up with anything rational—there was just something questionable about the man. "Where do you hail from, Pit?" he asked curiously.

The boy flushed. After a moment, he mumbled embarrassedly, "Angel Land."

Even Ike looked a bit taken aback by that answer. Obviously trying not to be rude, the general leaned forward and repeated, "Angel Land?"

"Yes," Pit said with a grin. "Angel Land. It's like heaven. I am an angel."

"Hence the wings," Marth surmised. "Why are you here?"

"I like the peacefulness of this room. It feels like home. Everything's quiet here." Pit trailed off, his boyish smile disappearing for a moment to be replaced by a mournful look of homelessness that suddenly made him look years older. But he snapped back almost immediately, his face brightening into a grin that was so cheerful Marth couldn't tell if it was genuine or not. "Or did you mean why I'm here as in here at the competition?"

"I just wondered why you left home," Marth said quietly. "You don't have to answer if you think my question is rude—if it was then I apologize. I should not be prying into other people's motivations."

The white angel shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously. "With all respect," he finally answered, "I'd like to keep my reasons for myself, if that's alright. In exchange, I won't ask you yours."

"Deal," Marth replied easily, leaning back into the plush folds of his chair. _What an odd group we are,_ he thought to himself. _Everyone has secrets; no one feels safe enough to share them._

In a way, the prince found this to be a rather depressing thought.

"Everyone has a story," Ike said, his voice ringing out in the silence that had suddenly smothered the library all over again, drawing everyone out of their gloomy thoughts. "Not everyone wants their story to be heard yet. That's all there is to it." He looked over at Marth and Pit and smirked. "You guys worry too much."

Marth and Pit both opened their mouths to protest, but before either of them could get a word out, a loudspeaker above the library entrance crackled to life, and the now unpleasantly familiar voice of Mario rang out—echoing through the room in the same way that Ike's and Marth's laughter had just a moment ago, although the tone it cast was much different. "All Smashers report to the commons. We will be discussing preparations for our_ late_…"—Judging by the slight squeaking sound coming through the speakers, Marth guessed that Mario was strangling something, possibly the microphone stand, possibly something (or someone) else—"tournament celebration. All Smashers report to the commons."

"He could have said please," Ike said tiredly as he stood up, stretching his arms over his head. Pit had already bounded off and was hovering about three feet off of the ground by the door, looking back at Marth and Ike expectantly. When neither of them moved, the angel zipped off without them.

Ike glared down at Marth, who hadn't budged from his seat and was looking forlornly down at the carpet.

"You'll be in worse trouble if you don't go," he pointed out knowledgably.

The prince shot a regretful look out of the library window, where the garden was just barely visible as a rare blotch of green in the corner of an almost completely gray view. The noon sun had risen high in the sky, throwing everything into stark shadow. From this point, the horizon was invisible.

_"Be the horizon."_

_How could he be something he could not see?_

"Fine. Let us go."

A/n: **Yea. Told you it was great. Now if only she could finish my other chapter fics…**

** Review thanks go to: **_**MoD**_**: I'm so thrilled you like Sheik! I was worried she would be too…boring. Hehe. Seems you know where this is going; but don't worry, I'll try to surprise you. Oh, the Smashers were Mewtwo and Ganondorf. The reason Mewtwo is here is because of the mixed up invitations on Luigi's behalfXD You're very welcome(: As for Marth/Sheik, I do think I have an idea in mind for that…Hi **_**EggplantWitch**_**! Can I say I'm so sorry for never answering your email? X/ My excuse? I'm working on the contest with MoD! He'll vouch for me! *silence* Thanks buddy. Anyway, thanks! I was trying for that, and trust me, I've trying to write with less. So thanks for your CC! Haha Yay Pit! You've definitely made me like him more:) **_**Lovingyourillusion**_**: Oh you know it. Thanks for reviewing and Imma go through your chapter soon(: **_**Pk Love Omega**_**: Thanks for your thumbs up of Sheik(: I'm sorry for late updating! Haha. **_**AcoylteofAzura**_**: Well, thank you. I like to take OOC and use it so I can turn the characters real, and just play with canon. Thanks so much! FangirlsFTW:D And **_**Mousey**_**: I didn't mind you reviewing every chapter. Thought it was great and felt very flattered. Thank you! I'm so pleased you like it(: And thanks for the thing on dialogue. I think you're probably the person I look up to most because it's so natural and great in your stories, and I suck at it. and all my gratitude to you for this chapter. You've made me love my story again. Feel no need to review your own chapter, but thanks for the other reviews:) **

** Long review section, was longer until my computer crashed twice and I had to rewrite. Screw you computer. But I loved the reviews, thanks to all!**

** Hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading, and please review.**

** ~Araceli L (Thanks again Mousey, hehe.) **


	9. Little Talks

Sheik stood quietly, eyes darting quickly as her breath. She felt the sunlight seeping into her, the flowers in her lungs; she closed her eyes, counted to ten, and plunged into the water below.

* * *

Zelda moved quietly into the crowded room, feeling the questions in the air, the excited ramblings of thoughts. She smiled slightly when a few caught her attention, and continued through the colorful throng.

On the other side of the room, her hawk-like vision spotted a familiar blue-headed boy, and she found herself waiting for him to notice her. Desperately? She rolled her eyes. She, a princess, was never desperate for attention.

But...why wasn't he looking?

She shrugged it off and studied the stage built in front of the crowd. Intricate marble engravings and patterns were etched into the side of the pillars that held it up, resembling what she recognized as the Pantheon of homosapien mythology. Dancing in the vaulted ceilings were several chandeliers, just like the dining room, and Zelda was vaguely impressed with the amount of candles. Curious as to the meeting, she turned to find Link.

Across the room, Pit tucked in his wings and landed gently on the cold floor. He spotted Lucas, the blond psychic boy, and went to say-

"Glad to see you made it," a voice said, louder than the rest of the dim chatter.

Caught off guard, Pit wheeled around, stumbled, fell, and managed to catch himself as he made eye contact with the owner of the voice.

Looming at least five feet above him stood an enormous, dark-skinned man with blazes of hair. Ganondorf grinned crookedly from ear to ear. "Startled you."

It was a fact, not an apology, or a question. It made Pit's already uneasy feeling grow worse.

"Yeah," he chuckled awkwardly, looking for an escape in the multiple pockets of Brothers. Maybe if he said he knew a guy-

"I think," the Gerudo King rumbled slowly, his deep voice and dark eyes piercing through the angel, "we should ally ourselves."

So surprised he wasn't even frightened, Pit gawked up at him. "Me?" he squeaked. "Why? I'm not even good," he spit out before he caught himself.

Ganondorf let out a long, deep laugh, and Pit could have swore he felt it shake the floor. "I believe that we newcomers will fare better if we stay true to each other." He looked directly into Pit's eyes, innocent blue meeting stained, sinful, and tormented amber. The angel stood, stunned, almost mesmerized by the depth, the pain those eyes contained.

But he also felt something else. He felt...honesty.

"Um..." conflicted by the signals he was getting, Pit floundered with his tongue, but couldn't make more than a few guttural noises. Thankfully, as he abashedly broke gaze to stare at his feet, a few echoing steps were heard. As Ganondorf turned his attention away to observe Mario climbing the tile steps, Pit took his chance to slip away, his legs still jittery and his mind utterly boggled.

"Hey," a voice said casually, and Pit jerked, jumping until he felt Ike's warm hand on his shoulder.

"Whoa, it's okay, kid," Ike said, looking into Pit's face like a concerned parent. "What's up? I saw that thing with Ganondorf...you okay?"

Pit gazed back, mildly confused, but it was pushed to the back of his mind as Mario began talking into the crowd.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he muttered, his voice dropping to barely audible as Mario talked. "I'll tell you about it later."

Ike nodded solemnly, and turned to give Mario the everlasting attention he so deserved.

"Hello, Brothers," Mario was saying, his chin held high, making the word 'brothers' sound like a sad attempt at associating himself with the lowly. "In honor of the continuation of the Super Smash Brothers Tournament..." here he awaited the approving applause and cheers of the Smashers to quiet down, "...we will be celebrating with a little party. Nothing fancy, mind you..."

The crowd broke into excited jitters, voices whispering here and that. Ike watched, interested but removed, as Mario grinned at the electricity running through the crowd.

"Quiet. It won't be anything special, as I mentioned. Just a party for all of us here, starting at eight. Of course, visitors - approved visitors - are allowed."

And with that, moustache positively brimming with excitement, he turned and quit the stage with such an air of grace one would almost wonder how he hadn't snaked his way into the likes of politics.

Ike observed this with a slight smirk on his face. Better to die a poor, honest man than a slimy rich one.

As the Brothers dispersed, whispers of both excitement and resolved sighs, Ike let them flow around him, like a fork in a river, eyes scanning the crowd for his oh so majestic prince.

He caught sight of his friend talking animatedly with a young black haired boy, who was nodding encouragingly and pulling things out of his pockets to show Marth as he marveled over them. Ike grinned, unsurprised by Marth's awe. He himself was a little harder to impress.

But as he waited for them to finish, Ike watched Marth, studying him more closely than he had before. The prince was clean, impeccably dressed, suave and handsome as a prince was supposed to be. His face was young and seemingly impressionable, but something in the lines of his face seemed to suggest to Ike a hardness about him. There was a shrewdness in his gaze, a calculation in his face, without one trace of naivety. And Ike could respect that. For one so young, so inexperienced, Marth seemed to know quite a lot about people, and even more so about what he wanted, what he believed, and what he had to do to achieve those things.

Purpose and confidence seemed to exude from the prince like light from the sun, warming those around him with comfort and stability. Ike didn't know how real it was, how long it would last, but sometimes, he knew, it was just nice to pretend. Destiny seemed to be written for Marth, or perhaps the prince was playing her hands, telling her when and what to write as she stared awestruck at his charm. Regardless, the fate and power this boy - young, impressionable man - carried seemed beyond his years, almost beyond his abilities. He was so inexperienced! He didn't even know how the world worked! And, even if he did, or thought he did, he had never been in it, never fought for his life on a field while he lay dying, never saw his friends' heads slashed off cruelly before his wide eyes, never struggled so hard for something he could never attain.

Sourly, Ike regarded Marth as he smiled and nodded. Young and excited, young and impressionable. Growing up a prince left quite a stain, or lack thereof, hadn't it? Whatever destiny this boy seemed meant for, none of it was going to be easy.

Ike sighed at his own bitterness. It wasn't Marth's fault he'd grown the way he did. He still understood the world was cruel, without having had the world be cruel to him. Wasn't that the mark of an intelligent mind? But, Ike thought, the saltiness returning to his thoughts, understanding was a million lives away from knowing.

Quietly, quickly, Ike closed his eyes and said a small prayer for the boy. Whatever gods or goddesses could hear, he hoped Marth wouldn't be hurt too badly.

Because the boy was good. He was innocent. Don't ruin it too much. Stop taking the good away from the world.

Marth noticed him far away, looking resigned, removed, and slightly sad. Concerned, he called to him, and Ike met his gaze, smiled, face instantly clearing. He joined him, and Marth said goodbye to Red, the boy with the outlandish animals, and the two chatted back to their room, laughing and carrying on as though they'd been brothers their whole lives.

-Break here cause this editing suuuccckkksss sorry for 4th wall break-

Everything was different in the mansion tonight.

Maybe it was the fact that Mario had randomly decided to throw a dance, as he called it. And everybody seemed excited. But, why?

Maybe it was that even though Mario ran such a tight fist, he seemed to come clean, friendly, and a pretty great dancer when such events occurred. And nobody begrudged him.

Maybe it was that Marth wasn't used to loud music, but he flinched every time he heard the crash of cymbals and the clang of the weirdest looking drums he'd seen, earning a bout of laughter out of Ike each time.

Standing in the corner, acting the part of the wallflower, the prince was content to watch the more - spirited - fighters jerk it out on the dance floor.

Underneath the dim chandelier and laser bursts here and there, bottles swigged, women flung their hair, and men swung their partners around like ropes. Eventually, the crashing and bursting noises ended, and a few Smashers left the floor to refresh themselves.

"Bottoms up," Ike slurred, leaning contentedly on Marth's shoulder. Taking a wine bottle to his lips, he nudged the prince. "Hey, hey, here comes that fine girl! The blonde one, with the...the hips that could lead an army to war...yeah..." He stumbled off, directly past said blonde woman, staggering onto the floor and taking one of the female staff workers, a girl with lovely blue hair, into his arms. She blushed.

Marth nodded politely as Samus approached, and couldn't help but grin at the sweat beading her smooth brow.

She looked him up and down. "What are you lookin' at, boy?"

He smirked. "It's just interesting, isn't it? Mario is like a dictator, yet he still knows how to 'get down', as Ness put it. Strange."

Her green eyes softened. "I know." She sighed, then smiled too. "A little alcohol will do that to you. So...why are you over here, wallflower?"

He chuckled. "Not a huge fan of dancing."

"What, they don't dance like this back in your country?" she teased, body bobbing in time to the music.

"Not exactly." They exchanged grins, Marth suddenly wondering if that warmth that filled his torso was felt by everybody.

"You don't like rock music?" Samus asked, turning her head, her slim jaw and portrait-worthy profile back to the dancers, whom had slowed down with the change of another song. Ike hadn't been exaggerating about the way she moved her hips.

"Is that what all that banging and screaming was?" Marth answered, partly surprised and partly curious, but mostly embarrassed.

Sensing his confusion, the green-eyed beauty took him by the hand and led him to the floor.

Warmth, filling his tummy like the finest wine. Blossoming like a sunburst.

"Now, I know we barely know each other," she said, placing his hands around her lower back and in her other hand, as if it meant nothing, "and this will be one of the few times we can talk so casually..." she adjusted his hand, placing her on his shoulder, "and we're both probably drunk as hell, so just remember:" she finally met his eyes, "I wish you luck. I think you're going to be something goddamn special. Don't ruin this for us, Prince. We need a man like you."

The music swelled, and suddenly they were off, and Marth felt his heart begin to return to its normal rhythm. He knew how to dance like this. They did all the time in Altea, with the formal lords and ladies, with stupid, air-headed girls, puppets really, dolls for their fathers and nothing more. But Samus was a warrior. She was smiling softly. She was occasionally glancing from her flushed cheeks, from under her fluttering eyelashes into his blue eyes. She giggled quietly as he spun her around, and grew slightly amazed, eyes wide as Marth felt the music sweep to his feet, pull him forward like a commander, a master.

And, as soon as it began, it was over - Samus was out of his arms, those green eyes burning into his, pressing into his memory until his heart felt it would pump so fast it would stop, like a rabbit or a deer. What - wait - this wasn't the mansion he knew. What was going on?

He looked around, stumbling on the floor, catching a glimpse of Peach pressed against Ike, Mario dancing nearby and merely laughing! There was that beautiful princess, eyes like a goddess and wiser than the sages, laughing brilliantly with the racer and the angel - Pit, right? - both of them seemingly mesmerized at her sun's awe! Was that Link toasting to the fox and his bird friend?

"...strange," Marth murmured, standing stunned in the middle of the floor as all types of creatures swayed in and out of his vision.

Something like dancing can bring people together? Surely this isn't what Sheik...Sheik...

A pair of bright ruby eyes.

Marth gasped, but it was nothing but a blink of his eyes. How many drinks had he had? It hadn't been that many...speaking of drinks...

He turned, feeling as though the world had slowed down, grabbed a bottle out of Lucas's hand - wait, a kid? Okay, he shrugged - and poured the sourness down his throat. He smiled as he gulped, feeling the warmth spreading through his tummy. More, more, and -

- Break -

It was a dream. It was a dream. But you need not forget the little talks. Even dictators are human. Everybody has something in common. But one moment of freedom cannot buy a lifetime...

"Gah!" Marth yelped, flying up from whatever he was lying on, a bed? and then the pain rushed to his head like sand dumped from a bowl.

"Gods of fire," he moaned, putting his hands to his head, lying back down, trying to sort out his thoughts from the pain.

"Keep it quiet, will you?" Ike grumbled, "my head feels like it's being smashed by bloody bricks."

Marth ignored him. "What happened last night?"

Ike gave him the death glare from underneath the pillows on top of his head. "A party. Never had them in Altea? Us peasants knew how to live life. Drink, dance. But this...was futuristic. It was fantastic. I've never been to something like that..." Seemingly worn out by all his talking, Ike trailed off and recovered his face with pillows.

Slowly stretching out his aching muscles, Marth pulled his body off the bed with quite a lot of difficulty. Damn, why did he drink that much? He'd had drinking sickness before in Altea, but his father made him swear off the stuff. The sweet, warming stuff...warming...Samus...Samus!

"What?" Ike shouted half-heartedly at Marth's blurting of her name.

"Nothing," he mumbled back, pulling a comfortable pair of trousers and thin tunic onto his body. "Want anything from the kitchen?"

"Nope," Ike said through heavy breaths, his nose sounding quite a bit like a trumpet.

Assuming most of the Smashers were in bed with the drinking sickness, Marth trod barefoot down the thick plush carpet, through the hall, down the stairs, passed the stained glass windows, pushed his hand on the dining room door -

The sight that greeted his eyes was the last sight he ever expected and ever wanted to see.

a/n: I CANT BELIEVE I UPDATES GUYS

PLEASE GIVE ME ALL THE REVIEWS, I MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH

-Ace


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